


Factor VIII

by Sexycanofsoup



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Drarry, Hogwarts, M/M, Not Epilogue Compliant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-02
Updated: 2016-09-23
Packaged: 2018-08-12 14:12:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7937710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sexycanofsoup/pseuds/Sexycanofsoup
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Harry decides to take on the coach position at Hogwarts after serving as an auror for many years, he expects relaxation and maybe just the smallest bit of excitement--what he doesn't expect is Scorpius Malfoy, a boy who loves brooms and flying even more than Harry does, but who has been forbidden to fly by his father because of a muggle blood clotting disease. Before he knows it, Harry is neck deep in lives of the Malfoys with no notion of how he got so entangled in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1:

Harry wasn’t sure what to do with himself. Sure, he knew where he was _expected_ to be. Most of the school was already gathered in the great hall. The usual welcoming feast was about to begin. He’d always loved the welcoming feast, but he was dreading this one. No matter how adventurous his life looked to outsiders, Harry was loathe to change anything about his beloved memories of Hogwarts, and if he marched into the great hall and tried to sit at the teacher’s table...well, that just wasn’t going to happen. He wasn’t a teacher. He had no business being a teacher. Granted, he’d been a quasi-sort of teacher back when he’d been leading Dumbledore’s army. But that wasn’t really teaching, was it? Those had been his peers, it hadn’t been an official class, everything had been on his terms, and it had been a trillion years ago.

Harry turned at the end of the hallway and made his way past the tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy for the dozenth time. He was used to pacing this corridor even though he knew it would do no good. The room of requirement had been gutted with fiendfyre, and would never show its doors again, but he still couldn’t help feeling a little stuttering hope in his chest every time he passed the space every third round, waiting for his escape to appear. He’d feel better once the formality of the feast was over and done with. Then he could just pretend he was a school wide quidditch captain and everything would be fine. He’d been excited about coming back to Hogwarts. All throughout the paperwork of electing a new head for the auror office, and retiring himself he’d kept his excitement. Ron and Hermione had both thought this job an excellent transition to help fight off the middle age crisis he’d been teetering on the edge of for quite some time now. Everyone said he was too young for a midlife crisis, and, at only thirty seven, maybe they had a point. But after sixteen years of chasing criminals he was ready for something different, and when he’d seen the small article in the daily prophet about Madam Hooch’s retirement he seized the opportunity.

He heard a distant crack and raced for the stairs. Only the huge front doors made that sound, and only when Hagrid threw them open in his customary fashion. The first years were here. Harry took the steps two at a time and prayed that the staircases hadn’t moved around too much since he’d climbed them fifteen minutes ago.

He heard small excited voices and increased his pace. He was running now, hardly dignified behavior for a teacher, even if he was just a coach, but he didn’t care. As the entrance hall came into view his eyes scanned the space for Rose. She, rather than Victorie, was his bigger concern. Sure, she was smart enough to stay out of trouble, but she was also curious enough to go searching for it. And she was so small. Had he really been that small when he’d started Hogwarts all those years ago? It didn’t seem possible, but he must have been. He could still remember those first year robes. They were the first clothing items that had actually fit him.

His eyes spotted red hair and he smiled. There she was. And she was dry, which meant she hadn’t fallen into the lake, and she was free of blood, which meant she hadn’t managed to get into some sort of fight in the single hour they’d been separated. All in all a good start.

“‘Arry! There ya are!”

This was all the warning Harry got before he was bowled over by more than 11 feet of half-giant. Though Hagrid was getting on in years (he was in his eightees now) He didn’t seem to be slowing down, and had reassured Harry, in one of his frequent letters, that he was perfectly capable of continuing his duties as groundskeeper. Harry thought it was probably his giant blood. He didn’t know how long they lived, but it must have been longer than humans by the looks of Hagrid. By some miracle, Harry managed to extricate himself from Hagrid’s bear hug and surreptitiously checked to see if all his organs were in place.

“Was hopin’ I’d get to see ye before I brought the kids in. I told the tykes that you an’ me’re friends. Got them real excited. This little bugger even managed to wrangle a promise out of me to introduce him to ye’.”

At this, Hagrid gave one of the kids a friendly pat on the head that nearly knocked the poor thing flat on his face. Harry didn’t recognize the kid, but that didn’t surprise him. He was used to the unique awkwardness of having more fans than he knew what to do with. He really wished they’d forget the whole defeating Voldemort thing. It was an impossible title to live up to and it made him feel like a douchebag. But maybe this time it had nothing to do with the nostril-less villain. Maybe they were just fans of his case filing system. It was ingenious, if he did say so himself. It required his secretary to color code everything she brought into his office. Blue or purple meant dull paperwork he could safety sneak away from, usually by apparating from the bathroom and over to something fun. Yellow and green meant he had to deal with the problem that day or face his secretary’s wrath. Orange meant sit the fuck down and get to it. And Red...Harry shuddered. The red cases were the ones that took years off his life. Even the teacher’s table in the great hall was nothing compared to a red case. In fact, the color red was completely ruined to him, and he felt queasy just looking at his house colors. The greens and blues of Slytherin and Ravenclaw were much more to his liking.

But all thoughts of the filing system and his terrifying secretary Bertha fled his mind as the kid in question hooked his little first year hands into Harry’s robe.

“But what spell did you _really_ use to defeat Voldemort? It can’t have been expelliarmus, though my mom says she saw it herself. I’ve tried it on my brother and it didn’t even do anything. Just made his wand wiggle around a bit. I don’t think wand wiggling could have defeated him. Unless maybe it made him lose his grip and drop his wand. And then you could have really laid into him, something that packed a whollop. Maybe an unforgivable curse. I heard my mom whisper something about that once to my dad. I was supposed to be in bed, but I wasn’t. They always save the most interesting comments for when I’m supposed to be--”

“Sorry, but, um, what are your parents’ names?”

It wasn’t a very powerful statement, especially considering it was his first direct address to a real student ever, but the boy didn’t seem to mind.

“Susan and Justin Bones-Fitch-Fletchley, Sir. And my name is Kyle Bones-Fitch-Fletchley, but everybody calls me Fitch cuz it’s the only part of my name that I like.”

Harry didn’t really know how to answer that. He decided he liked the kid. Though nearly two decades since Voldemort’s defeat, most wizards and witches still refused to use the man’s name despite everything Harry had tried to get them to stop with the stupid he-who-must-not-be-named nonsense.

“Well, Fitch, your mom was right. The whole thing was pretty lame as far as fights go, though the flash of light between our wands was pretty cool. And I technically came back from the dead that day and that’s gotta count for something. So don’t knock expelliarmus, okay? It’s a good spell.”

Fitch’s eyes went as wide and bright as silver half dollars as he mouthed “back from the dead.” Harry had a feeling that poor Susan would be fielding dozens of questions about the war in the letter Fitch was sure to write home to her now. He felt a prick of guilt. Many people who’d lived through the war didn’t want to talk about it, even now. But he was probably safe this time. Susan had always been a straightforward girl, and that probably hadn’t changed over the years. But just in case, Harry’s eyes continued scanning the crowd, looking both for an escape, and another glance at Rose, but Hagrid gave Harry a clap on the back (that nearly dislodged his teeth) and began to herd the kids into the great hall. Finally he spotted his favorite little redhead again, only to see her cheekily pointing toward the teacher’s table. The little brat.

Harry gritted his teeth and slipped through the first years. The great hall was just as big as he remembered it, which was strange, because didn’t things from your childhood seem smaller once you were grown? He kept his eyes to the floor as he made his way passed the gathered students. His feet itched to take him to the far right where his house table stood, but instead he made his way down the center of the room between the Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables. It was an unfamiliar view. He was used to having to crane his head all the way to check on what stupidity Malfoy and his gang were up to. He glanced up and scanned the faces. The Slytherins were always the most presentable of the houses with the nicest robes and hygienic practices. He recognized none of the faces at the table, which made sense, and yet he still half expected to see Malfoy’s smirking face staring back at him, the glint of some devious plot in his eyes.

Harry glanced back at the ground as he noticed an inordinate number of heads turning to look at him. As an auror he’d always been expected to meet people’s eyes head on, but he didn’t have to do that anymore, right? It was so much more comfortable looking at the ground…

“Harry!”

Harry looked up and saw Neville waving wild and enthusiastic hands over his head from the left side of the teacher’s table.

“Over here, Harry, I saved you a seat!”

Harry abandoned his floor watch and raised a hand in greeting. Though not nearly as enthusiastic as Neville, Harry felt his lips quirk up at the corners. On one side of Neville was Lee Jordan. He knew the boy had snagged the charms’ teacher position a few years ago after Flitwick retired, but it was still weird to see him at the teacher’s table. And he wasn’t the only one. Cho Chang was sitting beside headmistress Sinistra. She’d taken over the astronomy position two years ago. It was even weirder to see her there. He hadn’t known she liked astronomy. But, then again, he’d never known all that much about her. They’d had a few weird kisses and that stupid fight over Cho’s friend and that had been the extent of their relationship. She’d grown into a beautiful woman, but Harry was glad to see he felt nothing when he laid eyes on her. Dawlish was on the other side of Sinistra. Harry wasn’t surprised to see the man wasn’t speaking to his neighbors. He’d gone pretty quiet after the war. Harry had been the one to suggest the defense against the dark arts position to him when he was retiring from the aurors. He hadn’t thought the man would take it, but had been happy when he had. Dawlish had been teaching for ten years, and by now people had stopped making jokes about the position’s cursed nature. There were more familiar faces. Vector was still teaching arithmancy, and, Harry was exasperated to see, Trelawny. She looked even more like a cat lady now with the grey in her hair and an even greater than usual number of shawls. Harry only hoped she’d given up her sherry habit, but he didn’t hold out much hope. The face she was making made it clear that she’d give anything for a drink, and Harry thought this was likely due to the man beside her. He was obviously in the midst of discussing an issue close to his heart if his raised voice and animated hand gestures were anything to go by. Trelawney didn’t look the least bit interested, but that didn’t stop the man, who, Harry realized, was none other than Dennis Creevey. He felt a flash of guilt at seeing the man otherwise occupied, but was glad nonetheless for his reprieve. He liked Dennis. He was a great guy, and no doubt a great muggle studies teacher, but his enthusiasm for Harry hadn’t waned much over the years, and his attitude was still a little too close to hero worship for Harry to be comfortable with. Harry was about to give Neville and Lee his full attention when his eyes froze on the woman seated beside Dennis.

Rita Skeeter was looking extraordinarily well preserved for a woman of her age. Lies and manipulation must have greater anti-aging properties than he’d thought. He’d also been warned about her position at Hogwarts. Neville kept him and his friends abreast of all Hogwarts news in his letters, and his Christmas visits to the burrow, but seeing Skeeter in the flesh was more shocking than he’d expected. Neville claimed that the woman wasn’t all that bad now. She didn’t pester people quite as much, and since she no longer worked for any newspaper, her ability to do damage had been greatly reduced, but still, the sight of her set his teeth on edge, and removed the beginnings of the smile that seeing Neville had brought.

“You think the Hogwarts express has already left the station?” Harry asked. “You know how much I hate apparating.”

Neville rolled his eyes and dragged Harry into his seat by the back of his robes.

“Shut up and sit down. You’ll get used to the view up here in no time at all,” he said.

“Yeah, too late to back out,” Lee agreed. “Ooh, look they’re bringing out the hat. Wanna take bets on who gets sorted where?”

Harry settled into his seat and tugged at his tie. He hoped he’d only be expected to wear it today. Formalwear made him look like he suffered from gastric reflux.

He could see that Neville and Lee were trying to calm his nerves. Did he look that on edge? He took a deep breath and tried not to think about anything but enjoying the sorting. The hat was placed on its usual stool, but this time he had a much better view than usual. The hat didn’t seem any more worn out than all those years ago when he’d slipped it over his head. As he stared, he watched the hat come alive. It caught him staring, and winked at him before launching into its song. Startled, Harry turned his eyes away just in time to catch sight of a woman slipping into the chair on the other side of him. It was the last chair on the table, and the one he himself would have chosen. Years as an auror had taught him to always stake out the perch with the best escape options. He didn’t recognize the woman. She was wearing sleek black robes and a green and silver tie around her neck. Her skin was pale, almost translucent and her hair lay in a chestnut colored French braid down her neck. She wore no makeup, and without any sort of enhancement, she was plain. But there was something about her that caught Harry’s eyes. Maybe it was her posture. Her spine might have been a ruler it was held so straight. She turned her face immediately to the sorting and folded her hands in her lap. Looking at her, Harry felt a gaping sense of inferiority he had no idea how to account for, but he tried to put himself at ease by attempting to introduce himself.

“Hi,” he said, for want of a better start. “I’m--”

“Harry potter, yes, everyone in the room is aware,” the woman said.

Harry didn’t know how to describe the expression she was making. Her eyes had a spark of...something. And was that a smirk? He wasn’t sure. He suddenly wasn’t sure of anything.

“Anna Kitridge,” she said. She didn’t offer her hand. “It seems we both have the singular pleasure of being new staff this year.”

Harry hadn’t thought to ask Neville if there would be any other new teachers besides himself. He turned to give Neville a searching look and found that he and Lee had already shifted in their seats. Neville was attempting to keep an even expression on his face to hide the fact that he was eavesdropping, but Lee wasn’t bothering with deception. When he caught harry’s eye he raised an eyebrow. Useless housemates. Harry cleared his throat.

“I, uh, great. What class are you teaching?”

“Potions,” Anna said. That was all the answer he was going to get, apparently, because she didn’t elaborate. Harry had the feeling that she’d hold up alarmingly well against interrogation.

“I hear you’re going to be head of Gryffindor house,” She said. “A first for a Hogwarts quidditch coach, I believe.”

Harry was still trying to place what exactly was going on in her eyes. It was distracting.

“That’s right,” he said, glad he didn’t fumble the answer this time. “Sinistra asked and I didn’t see a reason to turn her down.”

“Naturally,” Anna said. “It would be embarrassing for anyone else to try now that the great embodiment of Gryffindor values is here.”

If anyone had asked Harry later what the sorting hat had sung that night he wouldn’t have been able to tell them. He felt his hands clench in his lap. He finally recognized the look in her eyes: mischief. Though what motive she had to mess with him he couldn’t guess. He’d never met the woman in his life, he was sure of it, and yet...there was an ease of familiarity in her way of speaking to him that put him at a clear loss. But he didn’t want to lose. There was a challenge in the unyielding way she met his eyes, and damned if he’d just let it slide.

“I’m flattered you think so,” he said, though he didn’t usually lie so blatantly, “but I’m not sure I’m fit to bear that title,” he said. He stared her down, refusing to blink. “It’s not common knowledge, but when I put on that hat twenty six years ago, it was pretty sure that I’d be a right good fit for Slytherin. I had to do a hell of a lot of pleading before the thing would agree to put me in a different house.”

He expected to see a satisfying helping of surprise in her expression, but he was rewarded by much more than that. Her mouth dropped open, and for one sliver of a second her guard dropped and he was able to use his auror training to read everything that was written there. He found shock, intrigue, and a flash of pleasure. But then her expression smoothed over like a pane of glass and when she answered Harry her tone was almost bored. It was only her eyes that betrayed her interest.

“In that case, maybe you’d like to take over for my house, and I’ll see if Cho wants a break from hers.”

Harry’s mind grappled with that for a couple of seconds before blurting. “So you were in Ravenclaw?”

Anna somehow managed to make a shrug look sophisticated.

“I could have been, according to the hat. But I knew where my family wanted me and told the hat to forget any notion of sending me anywhere but Slytherin.”

Harry’s mind went back to grappling.  The woman looked to be around his age, probably a few years younger, but try as he might he couldn’t remember a kittridge in Slytherin--or any other house, for that matter. Not that he’d memorized every student that had gone to Hogwarts during his time there, but he felt like he would have remembered her.

“SLYTHERIN!”

Harry jumped at the sorting hat’s roar. Lee burst out laughing.

“What the fuck!” Neville groaned. Lee was already shaking him.

“Pay up, Loser,” Lee said.

“How the hell did you guess slytherin? Both his parents were hufflepuffs! Hufflepuffs never get sorted into slytherin!”

His level of exasperation reminded Harry of how Neville had been in transfiguration classes as a boy.

“That’s five galleons on the very first student sorted,” Lee said. “I have a feeling I’m going to walk away from this feast a rich man.”

Harry was looking at the boy hurrying off to the Slytherin table looking pleased as punch. It was Fitch, and it was clear that he was enjoying the moderate chaos his sorting had provoked. It took several minutes for the sound to die down, but the next bunch of students caused little ruckus. It wasn’t until a little blonde boy took the seat that things got interesting. Harry found himself tensing. Scorpius looked so much like his father had, down to the slicked back hair and pointy face. It was hard for him to think of Malfoy as a father. In Harry’s mind Malfoy was still seventeen years old, looking pinched, war worn, and afraid. It had been a shock to see him on the platform that morning, inarguably an adult. He knew he’d stared, and had probably looked right stupid doing it, but Malfoy had looked composed, and when he caught Harry looking he’d given him a nod. No snarky comment. No smirk or sneer. Just the nod before turning back to his son--the son who was now sitting on the sorting seat with the old faded hat slumped over his eyes. Half a minute passed, and nothing happened. Another half a minute. Harry began to feel light headed, and realized he was holding his breath. Why? He didn’t really know. He’d never given Scorpius a thought before today, but found that he was suddenly, inexplicably, and inordinately interesting in the fate of the little blonde boy in front of him. Malfoy had been sorted almost immediately, he remembered. But the hat was taking its sweet time now. He leaned his elbows onto the table and looked closer. He saw Scorpius’s hands gripping the stool, but they didn’t look tense. The boy’s head was bowed. He wasn’t moving. With the hat covering his eyes he looked asleep.

“RAVENCLAW!” The hat roared.

Nobody moved. There was no shouting, none of the chaos that fitch’s sorting had caused. Scorpius lifted the hat and carefully placed it back on the stool.

“Thank you,” he said to the hat. He spoke softly, but the giant room was quiet enough for Harry to hear it. The small boy’s steps were rigid, but regular as he made his way over to his new house table. As he reached it, whispers began to break out across the hall. The students at the Ravenclaw table looked unsure, but several shifted over to make room for Scorpius. It was only after the boy sat down that a voice beside him spoke.

“Interesting,” Anna said.

But she didn’t sound interested. She sounded frightened.

“I don’t understand,” Harry said. “Why’s everyone acting so weird?”

Neither Neville nor Lee said anything. Apparently neither of them had thought to bet on Scorpius. He turned to Anna. She had her lips pressed together tightly.

“Why is it interesting?” He asked, hoping to provoke a response this time.

Anna didn’t say anything. She was still watching Scorpius. Another two students were sorted and she said nothing. Harry wondered if she’d even heard him, and was thinking about asking again, louder this time, when she spoke.

“Every Malfoy child has been sorted into Slytherin for as long as anyone can remember,” Anna said. “At least nine generations.”

“So?” Harry said. He didn’t put much stock in traditions. Never had.

“So…what?” Anna said.

“So that’s why everyone went quiet? Because of nine generations of slytherin babies?”

Anna finally ripped her eyes away from Scorpius.

“What? No. It’s because he’s the son of a death eater. Nobody wants those.”

The comment struck Harry as strange, though it shouldn’t have. The words she said made sense, but…

“That was twenty years ago and has nothing to do with the boy,” Harry said. “The war was over long before he was ever born.”

“The kids here might not have been there,” Anna said. “But their parents remember, and history will remember. No one wants to connect themselves with the stigma of the losing side.”

_That’s stupid_ , Harry thought, but didn’t voice it aloud. Instead he said, “You sound like you know a lot about the Malfoys.”

Anna nodded. “I’m a close friend of Draco’s.”

Harry _definitely_ didn’t remember a girl named Anna in Draco’s gang. But maybe they’d met after Hogwarts.

“And Scorpius?” He asked.

“I’m his godmother,” Anna said.

“Huh,” Harry said.

He was saved from having to think about that by the little girl who made a beeline for the sorting hat and set it on her head. Little Rose went as stiff as a board beneath the floppy hat, but it was only a couple of anxious seconds before it shouted, “RAVENCLAW!”

This time it was Neville who leapt up and slapped Lee’s back. “I _told_ you she was too smart for our house!”

Harry watched as Rose jumped up and took a few fumbling steps toward the Ravenclaw table before she realized the hat was still on her head. Blushing bright as her hair, she ripped the hat off and dropped it back onto the stool. The room laughed, but Harry didn’t. Something awful was pinching his heart.

“No,” he said. “Not Ravenclaw.”

He knew his face was even whiter than he felt.

He’d suspected that this might happen, but even the meandering train ride over to Hogwarts hadn’t been long enough to think of solution to the problem he now faced.

“What’s wrong, Harry?” Neville asked. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

It was a poor choice of words. The grey lady, who had just been floating by the teacher’s table, heard Neville and sniffed pointedly.

“No offense,” Neville said quickly, but she was already gone, headed over to nearly headless nick by Harry’s calculations, probably to complain about how much ruder the staff had gotten in recent years. Harry didn’t care.

“How am I supposed to keep my promise now?” He said, and tugged at his hair. It was a bad habit, his hair tugging. He did it whenever he was nervous, and with each tug his unruly hair grew ever more impossible to contain.

“What promise?” Lee asked.

He’d wilted at his lost bet with Neville, but was coming alive again at the sight of Harry’s misfortune.

“My promise to Hermione and Ron to look after Rose. How am I supposed to do that when I’m too stupid to solve the riddles to get into the common room?”

It was a serious problem, but he was the only one who saw it that way. Neville and Lee burst out laughing, and kept at it until Harry was forced to toss a flagon of pumpkin juice down their robes. (the food had appeared as soon as Rose, the last of the first years, had been sorted.) The sudden drenching was met by sharp cries and Harry barely got his spell of protection up in time to keep himself dry. Soon everyone was digging into their food including Neville and Lee who had been saved by a quick drying charm. There were four people not eating. Harry was one of them, and he wasn’t eating because he was distracted by Anna, who was also not eating. Harry followed her gaze and saw why. Rose had chosen her spot at the Ravenclaw table carefully. There were three empty spaces on the left side of Scorpius, but not on the right. Rose was sitting as close to him as possible without actually touching him. Her mouth was moving without pause. In one hand she swung her fork for emphasis. Scorpius was more inhibited, and he kept glancing down at his empty plate, but the rest of his attention was on Rose.

“Interesting,” Anna said again. But this time Harry didn’t have to ask her what she meant.

\---


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Harry didn’t sleep much that first night. It was too weird to be asleep in Hogwarts, and yet not be in his usual room with Neville, Ron, Dean and Seamus. Worse, he was in McGonagall’s sleeping quarters, with only a couple of walls separating the bedroom from her office. Just the thought of the office made him anxious. He usually walked out of it with a detention, or, at the very least, a stern talking to. He’d loved Mcgonagall, but the idea of sleeping in her bed was enough to give him the willies. He’d done his best with the place, going so far as to transfigure the bed into the four poster one he’d spent six years sleeping in, but it hadn’t done much good. He’d thought that coming back to hogwarts would mean reliving the glory days, but it was only highlighting how different things were now.

Eventually he gave up on sleeping and went down to the quidditch pitch. He spent most of the day taking stock of the equipment. He’d donated a bunch of good quality brooms to the school a few years back, but there was still a lot to shake his head over. Most of the equipment was old. The uniforms were dusty, the ball leather peeling, the brooms unbalanced, and the shower heads leaky. He wasn’t entirely sure how to fix everything, but he did what he could, keeping in mind to find somebody with better know how to deal with the rest of it. By the time he went down to the great hall for supper he was covered in dirt and bruises (several bludgers had escaped during his inventory and had given him a sound beating before he got them under control) but was feeling more like himself. He’d always loved the smells of quidditch, but couldn’t pinpoint when was the last time he’d actually played a game. It had probably been at the burrow, and that meant it wasn’t even a real game, just a little flying around with a quaffle thrown between them. He’d missed quidditch, still missed it. He couldn’t wait to get up on a broom and check out how the current teams were playing.

He found Rose at dinner, but kept his questions short. No student wanted to be seen talking to a teacher for any extended period of time--even if that teacher was just the quidditch coach, and happened to be your parents’ closest friend. But even the few questions Harry managed were rushed because Rose was impatient to leave. She gathered up some quick foodstuffs and sprinted out of the great hall, calling back to Harry that she was meeting Scorpius in the library and couldn’t keep him waiting. Harry walked back to the teacher’s table not really knowing what had hit him and wasn’t surprised when Neville asked him if he’d been confunded. They spent the rest of the meal talking about the day. Neville wasn’t surprised to hear about the shoddy state of Quidditch equipment. Something about budget cuts. He then regaled a long, and probably exaggerated story about one of his students being throttled by Devil’s snare. This story was then trumped by an even longer and more greatly exaggerated story from Lee about a student’s jealous girlfriend, and an excellently executed severing charm. All throughout dinner Harry waited, but the seat on the other side of him remained empty. Later, as he was putting on his pajamas, he wondered if Anna was hungry.

The second night was a little better than the first, but he still woke up with dark circles under his eyes. He was excited, though, because today would be his first class of the year, and he had no intention of screwing up.

“Your broom is your partner,” he said to the eagerly gathered first years hanging onto his every word, “Respect it, and it will serve you well. But mistreat it, and you might end up dead in a ditch somewhere.”

It was a good line, he thought, and well received to boot, until he realized that the first years weren’t actually staring at the broom in his hand, but at the scar on his forehead.

“Is it true you could hear you-know-who’s thoughts?” Asked a round little Hufflepuff boy named Stanley.

“And that you can talk to snakes?” Asked a girl who looked a little like a snake herself.

“My grandma says you have a Hungarian Horntail tattoo on your back!”

“Mine says that you were the youngest ever to become head auror.”

“Can we see the tattoo?”

“Will you tell me what Eliza, my pet snake, says about me?”

Harry held up his hands as a horde of children pressed into his space and threatened to topple him over in their enthusiasm.

“Can’t we just forget all that and concentrate on the brooms?” Harry said. “We’re going to _fly._ Isn’t that more interesting than talking to snakes?”

It was clear from the surrounding looks of disbelief that it wasn’t.

“Leave Harry alone, I can answer all your questions later.”

The voice was familiar, and the last one Harry wanted rescuing from. Ron would laugh his ass off if he heard his first year kid was protecting him.

“Trust me, I know everything about his life, even the stuff he’s already forgotten,” Rose said. “So just let Harry teach you guys about brooms. It’s his favorite topic, and I know that if he screws up his first ever class he’ll mope about it for half a month.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped. So much for teaching with dignity. But her words seemed to work as the students fell back a couple of steps and dutifully picked up their brooms. It was, as Rose had said, his first class. He had the Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs rounded together, and by the looks of them, nearly half had never ridden a broom before. Harry saw one bored looking Hufflepuff boy holding his broom up by the twig end. Flinching, he rushed over to correct him. The students began to spread out, and he saw a few mount their brooms.

“Wait. Stop,” Harry said, and motioned for them to dismount. “We’re not flying yet.”

As expected, this statement produced a lot of surprised expressions, and even some angry ones.

“Why not?” A boy named Henry said.

Harry vaguely remembered that he was Penelope Clearwater’s youngest child.

“Because no one is flying until they know how to properly care for a broom,” Harry said. “Take a look at what you hold in your hands. What do you see?”

Heads bent dutifully to look at their brooms.

“A piece of shit,” the snake girl said. Later Harry would remember that her name was Naya.

Harry had flipped through the student rules again after dinner last night, but he didn’t need it to remember that cursing was usually treated with deducted house points. He decided to throw the rule out the window along with a few others.

“Right,” Harry said. “But it doesn’t have to be. I know the broom you’re holding is old, and maybe you think it belongs in a museum rather than a quidditch pitch, but with proper care we can turn it into something serviceable. Look.”

He took the broom from her hand and, with a whispered command, had it hovering at boarding height.

“See? Perfectly steady. With time, most brooms, even the nicest ones, will start glitching. They’ll lose their balance, or navigation. Some will even throw off their owners.  I once saw a broom that could do nothing but turn in tight circles and another that refused to rise more than five feet off the ground. But with proper care all that can be avoided. I looked over each of those brooms yesterday and gave them the maintenance required to make them safe for riding. I won’t be asking you to do such adjustments. I have a mechanical broom license, but I don’t think any of you do yet.”

No hands raised themselves to prove him wrong.

“But I will teach you good broom hygiene. That includes polishing the wood, brushing and clipping the twigs, checking the balance and learning to read a broom compass. I’m going to teach you how to run a full broom diagnostic so that you’ll know when a broom isn’t safe to ride. I’ll be checking the brooms before every class, of course, but it’s best to be careful. I know from personal experience how painful it is to regrow bones and I don’t want that happening to any of you.”

“You regrew your bones?” Henry asked. He didn’t look quite as miffed anymore.

“Yeah,” Rose said. “This idiot Lockhart that used to be defense against the dark arts teacher vanished all the bones in his right arm after Harry fell off his broom.”

“I heard about him,” snake girl said. “My aunt says he’s going to be in St. Mungo’s for the rest of his life because of a misfired memory charm that happened because he was trying to--”

“Broom polish!” Harry said, a little more loudly than he’d meant to. “I have enough for everyone. Come get a tub and find a comfortable place to plop yourself down on the grass.”

The last thing he needed was for someone to launch into the story of Lockhart and Ron’s wand. It would only lead to more questions about Harry’s life and he wanted to steer clear of that topic for at least five minutes at a time. He quickly launched into a discussion of wood grain and polishing technique and soon all the first years were scrubbing away at their broom handles, though few looked enthusiastic about it. Just two, he noted. One was Henry, though with the kind of elbow grease he was putting into the job Harry was worried the broom would snap cleanly in two. Still, he had to give the boy points for enthusiasm. He was looking forward to seeing how the kid flew.

But there was only one child who was polishing up to Harry’s standards, and _no one_ met those standards _ever._ So he was more shocked at the fact that it was happening, than at the fact that that child was Scorpius. The boy had attentively listened to Harry’s every word, but it was clear from how he worked that the instructions hadn’t been necessary. Scorpius was no beginner. Harry went from student to student, making comments and corrections when they were necessary before finally dropping down beside Scorpius.

“May I?” He asked, and held out his hand.

Scorpius flinched, startled. He’d been concentrating too hard to notice Harry. He set down his rag and handed over the broom. Harry looked it over. It was hard to believe it was the same cleensweep 14 from the start of the class. Not only was it a perfect polishing job, but Scorpius had painstakingly adjusted every twig and oiled the metal bands at the base of them.

“Excellent. Truly Excellent, Scorpius. Ten points to Ravenclaw.”

He wasn’t actually sure if the quidditch coach could award points, but he knew that a head of house could, and he gladly gave the first points of his career to the small blonde boy. Scorpius’s eyes widened and he dropped his eyes to the broom and then back up at Harry like he couldn’t believe he was praising his work. Harry felt a pang in his stomach. How much had Malfoy told his son about his and Harry’s relationship at school? The boy’s disbelief made it clear that at least some of the story had been shared. Was Scorpius expecting him to take his revenge out on him? Harry’s mind pooled with memories. Snape on the first day of potions class asking him an endless number of questions he had no answers for, Snape taking points from him at every opportunity, Snape’s detentions, Snape’s occlumency classes, Snape’s uncloaked and unabashed disdain for six solid years just because he was his father’s son.

Harry touched Scorpius’s shoulder and hoped the motion was as gentle as he meant it to be.

“I mean it. You might even be able to teach me a thing or two. Where did you learn all this?” He asked.

He handed Scorpius the broom, and as the boy took it, twin spots of color touched the boy’s pale cheeks.

“My father taught me the basics, and I... I’ve always loved brooms. I have so many books about them. I know the stats on every broom model that’s come out since they started being mass produced. My dad, he says that if you’re going to do something, learn to do it well, so when he allowed me to take over the maintenance of the house’s brooms I made sure to learn everything about handling them.”

The boy’s words started off halting, but as he went on the fire of his fervor grew in his eyes and the words began to tumble out in a great rush.

“I saw your broom by the equipment shed. I hope you don’t mind that I went to look at it. I didn’t touch it or anything. Is it really a genuine lightningbolt? Everything about it checks out with the things that I’ve read. The type of gloss, the embossed handle, the striated twigs... but I know I don’t have an expert’s eyes, and they only made twenty five of them _ever_. They were never even put up for sale. The only people that got their hands on them were professional quidditch players. Is it really…?”

Scorpius’s eyes were so round and so bright that Harry couldn’t help what he did next. He held out his hand in the general direction of the equipment shed and said, “ _Accio lightningbolt.”_

He heard the whistle of the broom before he saw it, sweeping through the air in the perfect way it always did. He had read the stats on his broom just like Scorpius, but he had also experienced them over and over in the three years that he’d had it, and had grown to love that broom like no other possession save for his pictures of his parents, his invisibility cloak, and the marauder’s map. When the broom smacked into his hand it seemed to mold itself to his grip, as it always did. It was the perfect broom. New models came out every year, but he knew this one would be the best for a very long time. The undertaking for the lightningbolt’s construction had been huge, especially given how few were ever made. The broom was meant as a challenge to its competitors, and the challenge that twenty years after the firebolt’s creation, the company was still cornering the market on brooms. Harry had followed the news of the lightningbolt’s development eagerly, but almost hadn’t accepted when the company offered him one. He never allowed himself to benefit from the savior-of-the-wizarding-world nonsense if he could help it, but at the sharp insistence of the CEO, who had come personally to deliver the broom to him, harry had been pressed into test driving the thing. The moment he lifted off the ground he knew there was no going back. In fact, the company representatives had to wait over an hour for him to come back down from that first exhilarating ride to receive their due thanks. Only a small group of people had ridden on his broom. Each of the weasley children, of course as well as his godchild, teddy, Ginny’s husband, Dean Thomas, and the minister of magic, Kingsley shacklebolt had given it a whirl. But though all had expressed high levels of enthusiasm for the broom’s capabilities, none had ever looked at it the way Harry did...until now. The look on Scorpius’s face was one of ardent worship. Harry tried to catch his eye, but Scorpius saw nothing but the lightningbolt. It was only as Harry tried to press it into the boy’s hand did Scorpius come back to himself.

“No!” He cried and shoved himself backward. “I couldn’t. If I damaged it...There’s no way to get a replacement. The best broom model ever made…”

But though Scorpius had scrambled away, the way his body leaned toward the broom, and the way his eyes remained glued to it, made the truth clear.

“You won’t damage it,” Harry said. “And I’ve already scratched it, so it’s no longer perfect. You don’t have to worry.”

Once more he pressed the broom into Scorpius’s hands, and this time the boy took it. His hands were shaking so much Harry was worried he’d drop it, but Scorpius did no such thing. His hands steadied as he brought his face right up to the polish and began to inspect every inch of the thing. Harry said nothing, but watched the boy closely.

Was Scorpius like his father? It was hard to tell. Harry knew he’d never be entirely rational when he thought of Malfoy. Hermione had been saying that forever, but it was only recently that he acknowledged it. He grew embarrassed whenever he thought of the singular and overwhelming obsession he’d had with Malfoy in their sixth year at Hogwarts. He’d seen only brief glimpses of the man since the day of Voldemort’s death, and none of them had been personal enough to see how he’d changed since then. But he remembered the Malfoy of his school days well, and that was enough to see stark differences between him and Scorpius. The boy in front of him was quiet. There was none of the swaggering bluster of his father, but then again, Harry hadn’t seen any of that swaggering bluster in the train platform Malfoy of yesterday morning. Scorpius also seemed to be a loner whereas Harry had almost never seen Malfoy without his gang. Except for that time when...The memory came to him, unbidden and unwelcome. The sight of Malfoy in the bathroom, sobbing because he couldn’t get his plan to work and terrified that Voldemort was going to kill him and his family for it. Harry shoved the memory aside and gave up on his father/son comparison. It was too dangerous, and he wasn’t always proud of his past.

“You can ride it if you want,” Harry said. “Not now, or all the kids will be wanting a turn, but later, maybe after dinner. You can’t have all that much homework yet, right? Not on the second day of school.”

He let his offer sink in and was looking forward to the smile that was sure to light the boy’s face. But he didn’t get it. Instead Scorpius’s face went strangely blank and before Harry could really inspect it, the boy dropped his gaze to his lap where the broom still lay.

“That’s...that’s very kind of you,” he said.

Harry waited, but that was all Scorpius would say. After another minute of reverent memorization, Scorpius handed the lightningbolt back to Harry.

“If you ever want me to polish it for you let me know,” he said.

Then he dropped the tub of polish, scrambled to his feet and fled to where Rose was sitting, a book open in her lap. Her broom sat by her side, barely polished and long abandoned. Harry got slowly to his feet and tried to work out what he’d missed. Their conversation had been going so well. He’d been so sure that his offer to Scorpius would be well received, and yet the boy had run away and there was no explanation Harry could think of to answer why. Harry went around to all the students again, inspecting brooms. When he was done he asked them to stand in two parallel lines.

“We’re going to do a bit of flying now,” he said. “Nothing impressive, mind you, just a quick mount. I only want you rising a few feet in the air. If I see any of you take off or try to mess around you’ll lose house points. And, for anything particularly stupid, detention. Now I want you to set your brooms down beside you. We’re going to practice commanding your broom. Make sure you’re all standing far enough apart. I don’t need broom handles smacking into noses. See that you can spread your arms out without hitting your neighbor. The command to call your broom is simply...Rose, is there a problem?”

Harry had tried to ignore the mumbles passing between Rose and Scorpius, but as Rose’s voice grew to an audible hiss, distracting the others, he had to address it. At his question, both Rose’s and Scorpius’s heads whipped toward him, but both their mouths clamped shut. He had to forcibly keep from rolling his eyes.

“Well?” He prodded.

Scorpius shot Rose a sharp look and shook his head. Rose bit her lip. She looked at Scorpius and then at Harry.

“It’s nothing,” Scorpius said. “Please continue the lesson.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed. He’d caused enough trouble at school to know that when a child said “nothing” he usually meant the opposite.

“Rose,” Harry said.

It was the tone that did it. He almost never used it except when he was intolerably serious. She cracked like an egg.

“Scorpius isn’t allowed to ride a broom, or do anything dangerous, for that matter, and he knows it, and was supposed to show you the note from his father, only he didn’t, and he’s going to get in such trouble, but he doesn’t care, and only wanted to try flying, but Harry he can’t. He really can’t. If he should fall--”

“What note?” Harry interrupted. “What am I supposed to know?”

Rose’s explanation, which had gushed forth like water from a cracked dam, shriveled up to nothing at Harry’s barked words. She clamped her lips together and darted an anxious glance at Scorpius.

“Rose…” Harry said again in an even scarier tone.

She let out a miserable squeak and covered her face. Harry took a step toward her but stopped when he heard a loud sigh.

“This note,” Scorpius said.

He reached into his robes and fished out an envelope.

“I was meant to show one to every teacher at the start of term. And I did, except to you. Please don’t get Rose in trouble. It’s my fault. I told her not to say anything. I just wanted to try flying once, honest. I was going to show you the note right afterward and accept my punishment. Please don’t tell my father. It’ll only hurt him, and I haven’t flown, after all.”

Harry was used to becoming less confused after hearing a confession, not more, so it was with great bewilderment that he took the letter and slit it open to read.

_Potter,_

_I have already talked to Headmistress Sinistra about Scorpius’s condition and have gotten her permission to absolve my son of the mandatory flying classes given to first year students. Scopius suffers from Haemophilia A, a genetic disorder classified by the missing blood clotting factor VIII. Thankfully, he does not suffer from the severe form of the disorder, but he will still be under considerable danger if he suffers any kind of physical trauma. As it is, Scorpius can suffer from spontaneous internal bleeds that come with no justifiable cause. These bleeds are rare, but have happened in the past. Scorpius is well aware of the symptoms and knows to contact both me and his doctor in the event of such an emergency. However, careful as he is, it isn’t safe for him to play quidditch or to even fly on a broom. The usual spells that can be used to cure mild to moderate injuries will not work on Scorpius because of his disorder. If he should be hit by a bludger or fall from a broom there is considerable risk that he would not survive. Therefore it is imperative that he be banned from any such activities. He is also banned from the quidditch pitch during any form of quidditch practice, or for any official games as the danger of being hit by a wayward bludger is too great to ignore. If you have any questions, I can be reached by owl or floo. In case of an emergency I have included with this letter a pin that functions as a pager. You need only press and hold the center of the pin three times to summon me. I ask for your fullest cooperation in this matter, for my son’s sake. I apologize for any trouble this will cause._

_\--Draco Malfoy_

Harry read the letter fully over twice before looking up. Scorpius was standing directly before him, fidgeting nervously. Harry didn’t panic easily, but thinking about the risk he had so narrowly avoided made his pulse spike sharply. He studied the small blonde carefully. There was guilt in the boy’s expression, as well as resignation. Harry thought about flying, he thought about the rush of air into his lungs and that first sharp shove of Earth beneath his feet as he lifted off. He thought about how rain could sting as sharp as needles if you were going fast enough. He thought about the glare of the sun as it reflected off of the snitch made it look like a fireball. Harry shook the envelope. A small silver pin fell into his palm. It was tasteful and unobtrusive and just the sort of thing Malfoy would create. Harry picked it up and pinned it to the front of his robes. Then he looked around at his gathered students and prepared himself for their disappointment.

“Class is dismissed. Please return your brooms to the equipment shed. We’ll pick up where we left off first thing next class, I promise.”

He heard a couple of groans. Henry looked particularly vexed, and refused to even look at Harry as he stomped away, but most just looked curious and were eyeing Scorpius as if he was a strange breed of animal. Scorpius kept his eyes fixed squarely on the patch of grass in front of his feet. Harry watched Rose pick up her broom and come to stand beside Scorpius, but Harry shook his head and jerked his chin in the direction of the equipment shed. Rose opened her mouth to argue, but when Harry crossed his arms over his chest she gave him her very best glare and then stomped off toward the shed, looking very much like Henry. Harry waited until they were alone. Scorpius had stopped fidgeting but still refused to meet his eyes.

“Follow me,” Harry said and set off back toward the castle.

He had to adopt an excessively slow pace--slower than even Scorpius’s little legs should have necessitated. The boy was dragging his feet.

“You’re not in trouble,” Harry said. “I just want to discuss this.”

They finished the walk at a more normal pace. Harry held open the door of his office and gestured toward the seat in front of the desk. It was the same seat he himself had sat in on too many occasions. He made a mental note to replace it with something more comfortable. Harry decided not to sit behind the desk. Instead he grabbed the other hard backed chair beside Scorpius, spun it around, and sat down with his arms resting atop the chair back, his chin holding them in place. It was the most casual posture he could think of, but it was in vain. Scorpius was so still and stiff in his own chair that Harry could have sworn somebody had cast the full body bind curse on the boy without his knowledge.

“I really wanted to fly,” Scorpius blurted.

Harry was surprised. He’d been prepared for a one sided conversation where he lectured at a white faced wall, but here was Scorpius taking the initiative.

“Everyone gets to fly. Uncle Theodore's kids do it all the time, even little Ella and she’s only four. I see pictures of the races and the quidditch games. The famous players have pictures and interviews in the Prophet all the time. And there was that time that Blaize snuck me out to watch a professional game without telling dad. One player passed so close to me it ruffled my hair. I dream about it sometimes, about being up in the air with the wind so strong I can barely breathe. I know more about brooms than anyone I know, more than the newspapers even, I catch mistakes in their articles all the time.”

Harry said nothing. Scorpius wasn’t finished.

“My dad won’t ride a broom anymore. Ever since he had to tell me no the first time. He does it because he thinks it’s the right thing to do. A solidarity thing. He thinks it makes me feel better. But of course it doesn’t. Mom showed me his team pictures and quidditch awards. He was a great seeker. Not as good as you, but he flew really well. Mom says the first time she noticed dad was during one of his games. I know it hurt her when he hid all the quidditch stuff, but he insisted. He thinks that if he tries hard enough he can prevent me from ever getting hurt. But sometimes my body bleeds for no reason at all, and if I’m in danger of dying anyway why can’t I just ride a broom? I’m always careful. I notice everything. I consider everything. I wouldn’t let myself get hurt. Why am I not allowed to even try? I don’t care about being a normal kid. I don’t care if there’s some things I’ll never be allowed to do. But I have to know what it’s like to fly. Just that one thing, that’s all I’m asking for. I do all my daily exercises to strengthen my joints. I eat everything I’m supposed to and I never complain about all the shots and doctor’s visits. I’ve done everything in my power to show dad that I can handle the responsibility, but he won’t hear of it. He won’t even listen to mom when she tries to take my side. He’s never going to change his mind.”

Harry lifted his chin off his arms and pushed one of his freed hands into his hair. He knew it was his turn to say something, but nothing was good enough. _I’m sorry?_ That was inadequate, and if Scorpius was anything like his father he’d hate anything that hinted of pity. _Don’t worry?_ But there was plenty to worry about, and pretending was insulting. _I’ll fix it?_ But Harry was pretty sure he couldn’t, and that was the worst of it. He hated feeling useless.

“What if we make it safer?” Harry said. “What if we all put our heads together and try to think of some way to make it happen? Have you really tried everything?”

Scorpius leaned forward carefully in his chair. Harry wondered what the world had done to the child to make him so unused to the consideration of strangers.

“I haven’t been able to try anything. Whenever I try to broach the subject Dad goes all tight lipped and starts muttering about how I’m trying to put him in a stress coma.”

Harry stood up from his chair and began to pace the length of the small office. The problem here was that Harry was missing too many pieces of the puzzle to get a good understanding of the situation. He thought he knew Malfoy. As a student he could have sworn he could sometimes even read the thoughts in the little git’s head. But he wasn’t working with the same Malfoy anymore. The boy he knew had stomped on his face and left him to rot on the Hogwarts express. But the man who had written the letter Scorpius had given him? He didn’t know that man. At least, not well enough to have any confidence in his plans.

“Okay,” he said, finally and looked up from his pacing. He was surprised to see Scorpius with a book open in his lap. It was Harry’s copy of “The inner workings of your broom.” Harry recognized it from the coffee stain on the cover. How long had he been pacing?

Scorpius looked up from his book. Harry was used to Rose’s intense way of listening so he wasn’t thrown when Scorpius leveled him with the same force of concentration.

“I think what you need is an outside voice,” Harry said.  “Someone who won’t disturb the family dynamics and loyalties. With you and your mother ganging up on him about this, your father is only going to hang onto his position tighter. But Malfoy thinks I’m an idiot. He’s more likely to just flaunt the facts in my face than try any mind tricks. And he can’t manipulate me into feeling guilty because I don’t have family ties on him. Besides, I’m used to him resenting me. He’ll call me an arrogant busybody for sticking my nose into his business, but it’s nothing I haven’t heard before.”

Scorpius actually shut the book this time. He was doing the wide-eyed thing again. Harry clapped his hands together. “Right. It’s time for me to write a letter. You’d better get to your next class. I don’t know what Skeeter does to students who come late to class, but I doubt it’s pleasant.”

Scorpius didn’t move.

“Don’t worry, I won’t tell Malfoy about your little broom stunt so long as you promise to never pull that kind of crap again. We’re going to go about this the right way, and that means sticking with the truth.”

Scorpius still didn’t move.

“What?” Harry said, losing some of his newfound fervor.

Scorpius scratched his head with the corner of Harry’s book.

“Um, nothing, it’s just…are you sure you’re up for it? My dad’s _really_ good at arguing, and he’s a huge sore loser. This one time when we got lost trying to get to the muggle hospital he managed to convince me that he _meant_ to circle the park for two hours. I’m pretty sure he’d sooner die than admit that he’s being overprotective.”

Harry flicked this concern away with a wave of his hand. “Don’t worry. I’m a huge sore loser too, and, better yet, I really know how to get under your father’s skin. Just leave it to me.”

Strangely enough, this didn’t do much to erase the concern on Scorpius’s face, but the boy did finally get up and move to the door.

“Thank you,” he said as he clutched the knob. “Even if it doesn’t work out…I’ll remember the kindness you showed me.

Harry didn’t like the lack of hope in the boy’s expression, but he did let the Scorpius’s praise warm his chest for a while. Then he remembered that the kid had made off with his favorite book. And, with a sinking heart, he realized he was never going to see it again.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, to all those of you wondering when the hell Draco is going to show up, it's next chapter. I know it's pretty unconventional to have one of the leading stars take so long to appear, but I needed time to complete the set up. Thanks everyone for your patience. Expect to see the next chapter very soon.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Harry had to write six letters before finally sending one off to Malfoy. He wasn’t satisfied with any of them, but with each one he crumpled up into a ball he felt more and more pathetic until he couldn’t take it anymore and tied the last one to Poof’s leg before even reading it over.

Poof was a good owl, if a stupidly named one. Teddy picked the thing out when he was still a toddler. Harry put off buying a new owl for as long as possible, borrowing his friends’ owls whenever the need arose until Hermione issued a boycott to all owl owners in an attempt to stop Harry’s “self-inflicted idiocy” as she called it. So Poof had happened. He was as black as Hedwig had been white, with the largest most horribly adorable black eyes Harry had ever seen. He tried not to stare directly into them or he ended up giving Poof more treats than was healthy and felt like a sucker afterwards. The only spot of color on Poof was his beak, a flaring orange that gave the bird away whenever he tried to hide.

Harry gave Poof strict instructions not to leave until Malfoy read the letter and attached a reply. “Shit on his head if you have to,” Harry said, but switched the threat to Malfoy’s shoulder after some reflection. Malfoy loved his hair too much to tolerate owl shit, and Harry really didn’t want to see Poof stuffed and mounted on the wall of Malfoy manor.

All that was left to do afterwards was wait. He busied himself with clearing up the pitch and making appointments to speak to all the quidditch teams and placing orders for new equipment. Hogwarts didn’t have much in the way of a disposable budget for quidditch supplies, but Harry didn’t think they’d mind a donation. He had just floo’d back to his office from a meeting with his favorite quidditch shop owner when Poof flew back into his office, feathers rumpled but looking pleased. He landed on Harry’s desk and held out his leg.

Though he’d waited several hours for this moment, he was suddenly afraid. What good could a letter from Malfoy do him? It was probably full of snarky comments about Harry’s bad hair and his new job. He was willing to bet over half his salary that there was an allusion to “playing with balls” somewhere in it as well. But then he shook his head and steeled his exaggerated Gryffindor courage. He pulled the parchment free, unrolled it, and began to read.

_Potter,_

_I sent over a dozen letters to the members of staff, but trust you to be the only one in need of some explanation. I’m glad you’re no doubt frantic schedule allows you to take some time off from fiddling around with your balls to talk with me about my son. I’ll meet you in your office, tonight as suggested. Make sure your fireplace is authorized to let me floo in. I know it’s been many years since our last chat, but please try to keep your tender feelings from overflowing. I so hate tearful reunions._

_\--Draco Malfoy_

Harry snorted and tossed the letter onto his desk. He knew the balls thing would be too great for Malfoy to resist. A look at the clock said it was almost time for dinner. He wasn’t sure exactly when the blonde would decide to show his delightful pure-blood face, so Harry called for Winky and asked her to bring some sandwiches to his office. Hermione had done a lot to change things for house elves in her time in the magical law enforcement department. Although many still worked for Hogwarts, they were paid salaries, given four weeks of vacation a year, and had dental plans. Harry was glad to see that Winky didn’t wobble when she brought his food. It seemed the alcohol detox program Hogwarts put her through had worked. He was still in the middle of his sandwich when a burst of green powder in his floo announced Malfoy’s arrival. Harry scrambled out of his chair. Whenever Malfoy was involved he wanted to make sure they faced off evenly, and he couldn’t do that sitting.

Malfoy stepped out of the fireplace and brushed a bit of imaginary soot from his shoulder. The shirt beneath his robes was so white Harry wondered if magical bleach was involved. (Did such a thing even exist? If so he was sure Malfoy owned some.) Malfoy hadn’t grown much taller since Harry had seen him at the battle of Hogwarts, but he did seem broader. His hair, too, was the same length. He hadn’t deigned to grow it out in the style of his father. Harry was glad of that. The last thing the world needed was another Lucius. Something flashed on the front of Malfoy’s robes, and Harry realized it was the light catching on a silver pin identical to the one he’d just recently stuck to the front of his own robes. It was the first time Harry had ever matched Malfoy in anything, and the feeling was too weird to leave alone. But the shock of seeing Malfoy wasn’t enough to make him forget his manners. He gestured to a seat with the sandwich he was still holding. Malfoy raised an eyebrow at the gesture, but ignored it, choosing to remain standing.

“Tea?” Harry asked and pointed to the tea things arranged on his desk, again, with his sandwich. There was only one teacup, and harry had drunk out of it already, but he could always summon another.

“No thanks. This isn’t a social visit,” Malfoy said. “I see there was some issue with my explanation of Scorpius’s condition. Was it not clear enough?”

Harry looked at his sandwich, a little mournful, but put it back on its plate.

“No. The explanation was fine. I mean, I’d love to hear a little more about the situation. I’m not too familiar with blood diseases. But that’s not why I called you here. I want to know when I can take Scorpius flying.”

Hermione used to say that one day his way of speaking was going to get him killed, and by the expression that stole over Malfoy’s face like a storm when Harry spoke, he was sure that day had finally come. He almost took an instinctive step back, and then remembered his auror training and the importance of putting up a brave front to the enemy, and kept his position.

“What I mean is, um, that I think we should work together to come up with a safe way that everyone will agree will be…”

Harry trailed off when Malfoy’s lips drew into such a sharp line he was worried it would slice the man’s face in half.

“Are you trying to kill my son?”

If Harry thought Malfoy’s face was scary it was nothing on his voice. Harry hadn’t known his voice could dip so low.

“Do you think that just because we had our differences in school, and because I was a death eater and a coward that you can seek a sick kind of revenge on my only son and heir to twist his dream into the thing that kills him?”

This time Harry did take a step back, and held his hands up in front of him. He wanted to somehow freeze time long enough to figure out what the hell he’d said to make things go so horribly wrong. Sure, he hadn’t thought their first real meeting in nineteen years would be a breeze, but he hadn’t thought it could be this…this nightmare.

“No! No you’ve got it all wrong. I want to help! I would never…I don’t want to hurt your son,” Harry said.

But he already knew it was no use. He’d never seen Malfoy trust _anyone_ , and Harry would be the last person on earth he’d just believe on the basis of his word or his honor or any of the other Gryffindor values Slytherins regularly shitted on.

“You wouldn’t want to hurt my son?”

Malfoy’s words turned up in a sharp mocking bite as the sneer that Harry had seen so many times finally reclaimed his face.

“You, who have every reason to want to ruin me; you, who I’ve hurt and mocked and lied to. I’ve taken everything from you—me, or people like me. I supported Voldemort. My dad supported Voldemort. Who, if you don’t remember, was the power hungry immortal freak who killed your parents. My father tried to kill you and your friends, and I tried to kill Dumbledore. I made your school years a living hell and tried my best to get you expelled, tortured, and even killed at times. Remember my time as a prefect? And a member of the inquisitorial squad? And let’s not forget the cabinets I mended to let death eaters into the school. And finally, let’s not forget that it was my family that housed Voldemort during the war and my psychotic aunt that tortured Granger and killed our hand-me-down house elf. Or are you going to try and tell me you’ve forgotten all that?”

Malfoy’s voice stayed level throughout the whole thing. That was the scariest part. The second to scariest part was that he took slow measured steps toward Harry with every sentence. He’d rounded the desk Harry was still behind and was only one pace away from being nose to nose with him.

“There is no one who deserves to hate me, and all those connected to me, as much as you do, Potter,” Malfoy spat. “So why, pray tell me, would you want to help my son?”

Harry knew that the words he next chose to speak would either make or break him, and that kind of pressure wasn’t doing anything to help him choose correctly.

“I…it’s because, well, he’s not you, is he?”

Harry shook his head and grabbed a handful of his hair.

“I mean, he’s not like how you were. _You’re_ not who you were.”

Malfoy’s face was too difficult to read. He’d blanketed his rage with a stony coldness that did nothing to ease Harry’s tension.

“You don’t know that,” Malfoy said. Had the man gotten closer? “We’re a Slytherin family, Potter. Cunning and Manipulation are our stock and trade. A smart boy like Scorpius could make you believe anything he wanted, and you’d fall for it. You know you would.”

Harry drew himself up to his full height, but was still an inch shorter than Malfoy, and they both knew it.

“Maybe. But I don’t think so. I may be the bumbling idiot you think I am, but my time as an auror has helped cure me of my over-trusting gullible nature. Your kid is decent, and no one, not even a Malfoy, could fake that level of broom worship.”

Malfoy’s face didn’t twitch. He didn’t move, or otherwise give any indication that he was even absorbing what Harry was saying.

“I spent most of my childhood trapped in a cupboard with nothing but some old books and some rejected toys of Dudley’s to keep me company. I craved something, anything, to break the boredom. Flying a broom would have been the answer to my prayers, and yet…” Harry huffed out a sigh. “And yet I don’t think I’ve ever craved anything as much as your son wants to fly. He needs to fly, Malfoy. He can’t take it anymore.”

Malfoy turned around. It was an abrupt motion and one Harry hadn’t suspected. It left him fumbling for his next words. Malfoy went to his bookshelf and began to run the tips of his fingers across the spines.

“My son is too smart to keep this pining up,” he said. “He knows his dream isn’t feasible. He’ll give up on it soon.

Staring at Malfoy’s back, Harry felt anger churn in his stomach.

“You can’t just logic away dreams. It doesn’t work like that.”

Malfoy didn’t turn around, and that made Harry hate him a little.

“What would you know about logic, Potter? You’ve spent your whole life ignoring it.”

Harry had almost forgotten this feeling—that irrepressible need to argue that only truly rose up when he was dealing with Malfoy’s snooty attitude. It was the dismissal that did it. Malfoy never expected anything worthwhile to come out of his mouth, and that bothered Harry. It bothered him so much more than it should have. He was too old to feel the need to prove himself. Validation was for confused teenagers. Harry had the respect of the wizarding world. He had the titles, the fame, and the scars to prove his worth. But damned if it meant nothing in the face of Malfoy’s contemptuous back.

“I’ll find a way,” Harry said. “You might not give a fuck about your son’s dream, but I’ll find a way to get him on that broom. A way so safe that not even your stubborn denial can voice anything against it.”

For a moment Harry felt the confidence that comes along with righteous rage. And then Malfoy turned around. A very slow, deliberate turning. And when Harry saw his face he knew he’d just made a terrible mistake.

One of his books fell to the floor. Malfoy had been in the process of pulling it from the shelf. Neither of them spared it a glance. Harry’s eyes were locked onto Malfoy’s face. It showed none of the impassive stoniness of before. Every feature on his face seemed sharper, like they had the ability to cut through anything, bullshit or brick.

“Harry Potter,” Malfoy said. Harry had never heard his name enunciated quite like that. Not even by Snape or McGonagall. “If you put my son on a broom I’ll castrate you and feed your slimy cock to a hippogriff.”

It was weird to hear Malfoy spit the word “cock.” It almost came out sounding elegant. Also deadly.

“Tell me, Potter. Do you think yourself smarter than me?”

That was a rhetorical question if he’d ever heard one, but Harry answered regardless just to prove he couldn’t be lectured to.

“No,” he said. “but—“

“Do you think that after meeting him only once you somehow love my son more than his own father does?”

Another rhetorical question.

“Of course not,” Harry said. “But—“

“And do you think that in the ten years since learning of my son’s condition I haven’t thought of every possibility, every aspect of trying to give him a good and normal life?”

This was the most rhetorical question of all.

“Maybe?” Harry said. He’d never been good with trick questions.

Malfoy grabbed him by the front of his robes. One second he was staring distantly with cold rage and the next he had Harry shoved up against his desk, knuckles white with exertion.

“If I hear that Scorpius has been on a broom for any reason I will make damn sure you are never let near a child again. No more teaching. No more quidditch. Nothing. Do you understand?”

Harry was silent.

“I said, Do you—“

“I heard you,” Harry said. “And I won’t do anything without your permission. But I _will_ find a safe way to get Scorpius on a broom. I just hope that you won’t be too pigheaded and cowardly to accept the solution for his sake.”

Malfoy was yanking his robes so tightly that Harry was sure they would rip, but a moment later Malfoy let go, shoving Harry a little, as he took a step back and smoothed a hand over his hair. He turned toward the fireplace.

“Wait,” Harry said.

Draco went right up to the mantel and grabbed a pinch of floo powder.

“Wait. Malfoy. Draco. Wait.”

It was the Draco part that did it, Harry thought. It was so weird that it flustered them both for a minute. Malfoy turned his head in disbelief and let the floo powder slip from his fingers. Harry swallowed a couple of times and ruffled his own hair.

“I, uh, sorry, it’s just--I wanted to check. Now try not to get offended…“

Malfoy’s spine straightened to its maximum ability. He got a suspicious look in his eye. Harry pinched the bridge of his nose and wondered if there was a class on tact being offered at the community college near where he lived.

“I know you may not trust me all that much, and I’ve given you pretty good reason in the past not to, but if that’s the reason you won’t let me try to help Scorpius. Then what if I got someone else to help? Like Hermione, she’s really capable and knows loads about both muggles and magic, or maybe George Weasley, he’s excellent at charms and has a lot of time on his hands. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind helping out if I—“

“Potter.”

“Yes?”

“I don’t say this lightly, so believe me when I say I think you’ve managed to get even stupider since we were in school together. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have many things that need taking care of. We can’t all just sit around our offices bothering students’ parents.”

Malfoy took another pinch of floo powder and tossed it into the fire.

“What about Anna?” Harry asked. “Anna Kitridge.”

Malfoy didn’t turn his head this time. “What about her?”

“She’s your son’s godfather, right? So you must trust her.”

“Your point, Potter. Get to it.”

Harry licked his lips. “If I can get her to help me figure something out for Scorpius will you give it a try?”

Malfoy stepped into the fireplace. Green flames licked up his sides giving him a dashing effect he was no doubt aware of. He smiled, but it was a snarky mocking thing. “Sure. Why not? But don’t expect her to be any more accommodating than I am. We are, you could say, of the same mind on the matter.”

Harry didn’t get a chance at rebuttal. Malfoy had been whisked away.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, yes. One of my favorite things: harry and draco's arguments. I don't know about you, but adult draco is my favorite draco. I've kind of always wanted to be on the receiving end of some of his snark. I hope you guys are enjoying the story so far. There are many chapters to come, and a lot that needs to happen. thanks for your comments, guys, I live for them.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Harry decided not to corner Anna until the next day. Call him a coward, but he didn’t think it wise to take on both her and Malfoy on the same day. He knew his limits. He went down to breakfast early with the intension of pulling her aside, but once again she wasn’t there. He was starting to think she was a weird magical robot that needed no sustenance. It was inconvenient. Especially because when he tried to grouse her schedule out from the other staff members they wanted to know why.

“Sounds like Harry’s gone and got himself a little crush,” Lee said and raised the flagon of pumpkin juice up high. “A toast to new love!”

Harry just managed to stop himself from knocking the flagon out of Lee’s hand.

“No, shut up,” he hissed. “I just need to ask her something.”

“Ask her on a date?” Dennis piped in.

Harry was starting to see Lee’s influence on a lot of the teachers.

“Forget it,” Harry said. “I’ll find her myself.”

And that’s how he found himself outside of her quarters in the dungeon, slightly out of breath from having run half the way. He didn’t know if she had any classes scheduled for first period, but knowing his luck, she did. He had only fifteen minutes in that case. He gave himself a few seconds to catch his breath, and then a few more to build up his courage, and then he knocked on the door. No one answered. He knocked again, louder this time. When there was no answer he spun around and scanned the hall, as if she would just pop up in his field of vision just because he wanted her to. He was uncomfortably aware of his time running out. And that’s when he had another idea. He began to run. Half a minute later he found himself outside the potions classroom where a neatly put together Anna was rearranging the ingredients cabinet. Her head jerked up when he slid to a stop outside of the door.

“Going by all the noise I thought there was a drunken troll lumbering around, but it’s just you, Potter. Has anyone ever mentioned that you’re dreadfully heavy on your feet?”

Harry waved his hand and shook his head. He was even more out of breath now. For someone who might have once signed as an international quidditch player, he was woefully out of shape.

“Did you come for the potions lesson or is there some other reason you’re bothering me this early in the morning?”

Harry wasn’t sure why her antagonism didn’t get to him. Maybe because he was used to verbal abuse.

“Need to talk to you,” Harry said, around breaths. “About Scorpius.”

Anna pulled out a container of dried slugs and brought them over to the desk. She pulled several out and began to slice them into wispy ribbons. Harry knew from experience that the slugs smelled awful, but Anna didn’t flinch. She also wasn’t wearing gloves.

“If this is about the flying thing I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she said. “I have no intention of souring my relationship with Draco just because of some macho point you’re trying to prove.”

Harry frowned. Malfoy must have warned her that he’d come calling. He felt outsmarted, and worse, outmaneuvered, but he pushed off the doorway and entered the classroom. The stubborn Gryffindor wasn’t just a stereotype, after all.

“There’s nothing macho about it,” Harry said. “I just hate the idea of Scorpius being forced to watch all the others fly while he sits around polishing brooms.”

Anna blew a strand of hair off her face, but it fell right back. Both her hands were occupied so she left it there.

“No one’s forcing him to do anything. Scorpius knows perfectly well that it’s all for his own good. If you hate watching him so much then excuse him from the flying class so he can find better ways to spend his time.”

Harry snorted, which surprised him. He wasn’t much of a snorter by nature.

“That’s not my point. His dream is to fly. It’s all he wants and it would make him so happy. Can’t we find a safe way? What about a ride along? I can take him on my broom. It has a lot of safety features, and I’ve taken a lot of counter curse measures. There isn’t much you can throw at it that can take it down. I’d protect him. I know I can protect him. I’m head auror, damn it, that should count for something.”

“ _Were_ head auror,” Anna said. “Past tense. And besides, if Draco doesn’t trust himself to take Scorpius on a ride along there’s no way he’d trust you with him.”

Harry took a deep breath and tried not to take the conversation personally.

“So then he can take Scorpius on a ride along on my perfect broom while me and a bunch of skilled wizards stick around like a special broom guard. We can even fly around beneath them holding a giant trampoline.”

Anna raised an eyebrow at that.

“I’m not saying that has to be the plan,” Harry said, hoping he wouldn’t further undermine his argument “I just really think we should try. There has to be a way.”

“Well there isn’t,” Anna said. “There’s no plan with a guarantee of safety.”

“But—“

Anna set down her knife with a clack.

“Do you really think you’re the first person to think about this? Do you think you’re the only one who wants to see Scorpius happy? Do you think Draco doesn’t die inside every time someone mentions trigger words like ‘brooms’ or ‘quidditch’ in front of his son?”

Harry held up his hands in front of him. “No. Of course not.”

But Anna wasn’t finished. She rounded the desk and came to stand in front of him.

“Do you think that just because you’re the savior of the wizarding world you have a monopoly on the world’s compassion? That because you’re an orphan you can relate to all the sad boys in the world better than anyone else can?”

That stung. It hit a lot lower than Harry was expecting. And with the hurt came anger. Anna didn’t even know him.

“I never said that,” Harry said. “I don’t think that.”

“Really? Because your pretension says otherwise. Do you have a sick child, Potter? Do you have someone who means everything to you?”

“I—“

“You come in here and the first thing you do is start planting ideas in his head—ideas that can only lead to disappointment. Why would you give him hope when he’s only going to be let down? Don’t you see how cruel that is? Or are you just so angry at Draco that you want to see him turned into the villain because he won’t let his son engage in life threatening activities?”

More of Anna’s hair had come loose from her braid and was angrily waving with each breath. Her arms were balled into fists by her sides. The last time Harry had made a woman that angry he’d been slapped right across the face. (It had happened several years ago when he accidentally broke up with Ginny during Christmas dinner at the burrow. It was Hermione who had slapped him. Ginny had been stunned into silence along with everyone else at the table.)

“Anna,” Harry said. “I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but it’s wrong. I’m not evil. I wouldn’t do that to Scorpius and I wouldn’t do it to his father.”

“Why not? You hate him, don’t you?”

“No,” Harry said. “I don’t. I never have. Not really.”

He expected a derisive chuckle or another sardonic comeback, but what he got was a lot of blinking that looked like disbelief.

“What?” Anna said. “Of course you do, and did. You spent all your school years fighting.”

Harry shrugged. “Yeah, and over stupid stuff, mostly. He had a lot of bad opinions about muggleborns and magical creatures, and he was a snooty asshole to boot, but I was a prat too, and sometimes I got into those fights on purpose. We were kids. We grew up. Him probably more than me.”

Anna’s eyes were open so wide they might have been described as “bulging.” Harry would have laughed if he wasn’t still feeling residual anger.

“You can put the shock away. It’s not like him and I are ever going to be best friends. My little flying plan for Scorpius took care of that. I can live with him hating me forever, but listen. Like I was saying. You’re wrong. I don’t think I’m planting false hope. I genuinely believe that we can do this if we—“

“Draco doesn’t hate you,” Anna said.

This time Harry really did laugh. “Did he tell you that?” Harry said. “Because you shouldn’t have believed him. If you’d seen the way he shoved me in my office yesterday…”

“That was a mistake,” Anna said. “He felt bad about that. He lost his temper. He’s kind of…volatile about the whole Scorpius flying issue.”

Harry snorted. Again. And that was really weird. He made a mental note to ask Ron and Hermione if they thought he was turning into a snorter.

“Kind of,” Harry said.

There was rustling behind him. Harry turned around and found several faces peeking through the doorway. He waved. The kids took that as a good sign and began to file in. They were pretty small. Second or third years most likely. Anna pressed a hand to her face and sighed.

“To be continued?” Harry asked.

“No thanks,” Anna said. “You give me migraines.”

“Lee knows a good spell for that,” Harry said. “Will you be at dinner tonight?”

“Probably not.”

“Avoiding me?”

“More like everyone.”

She turned away from him and went back to her desk. It was a clear dismissal. Harry followed her.

“It’s because you’re hiding the fact that you don’t have to eat, isn’t it?” he whispered.

It got her to look up, which was the whole point he’d said it.

“What?”

She whisper-hissed it, following his lead and keeping her voice down to avoid the prying of overly sharp student ears.

“You don’t eat. I haven’t seen you at the staff table since the entrance ceremony.”

“I don’t like crowds.”

“Well then how about just you and me? We can apparate to Hogsmeade. Get dinner there. Or stay in the castle. I don’t really mind. I just really think we should talk more about—“

“No.”

“Please?”

“ _No_. Now get out of here before I slide some of these slugs down the back of your shirt.”

He raised an eyebrow. She held up a handful of slugs. There was no hesitation in her eyes. This close up Harry could smell them. They were worse than he remembered. He chose to leave.

“Good choice, Potter,” she called after him.

And strangely enough, he laughed.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys. I have a confession to make: Harry's snorting problem is just a projection of my own snorting problem. I think i might need a support group. Anyway, I'll be posting the next chapter tomorrow which features lots of cute scorpius and Harry being too interested in Malfoy's business (as usual) so stick around.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

The laughter didn’t last long when he remembered that he had only bad news to give Scorpius. He spent most of the day occupied with thinking of ways to break it to the boy, and starting guiltily whenever anyone called his name. The day wasn’t a complete waste though. He met with all the quidditch captains and worked out a responsible schedule for practice. No one walked away happy, which meant the schedule was fair. He also broached the idea of taking an active coaching stance for all the teams. It went over better than he expected—a little too well. Within minutes the Gryffindor and Slytherin captains were at each other’s throats arguing over who would get a session with Harry first. Thankfully the other captains and Harry managed to separate them before the argument could become a brawl. They spent the next hour working out the weak areas of the teams and their members and drills they could incorporate to help. Harry promised to come down to the pitch after dinner to do diving maneuvers with anyone who wanted lessons. The captains looked at each other strangely. They idea of group practice among all the teams didn’t sit well with them, but Harry assured them that they’d all get the most coaching this way. He also assured him that if it didn’t work out they could go back to doing things separately if they insisted. By the time he left the meeting he was exhausted and also ravenous but he forgot both his fatigue and hunger when he got to the great hall and saw Anna sitting at the edge of the staff table.

“This still doesn’t prove that you have to eat,” Harry said, appearing at her elbow (something he only realized was creepy later that night when he was lying in bed.) “For all I know you’re just a good faker and will excuse yourself to vomit it all up afterward.”

“Congratulations,” Anna said. “You just reminded me why I don’t like being here.”

There were several “oooohs” from the staff table. Harry looked up to find Lee, Dennis, and Neville all eagerly staring. Rita, too, had her head craned toward him. And even Dawlish, who was hiding behind his newspaper, was sitting a little too still to not be listening. Harry sighed. He looked at Anna, then at the other staff members, and turned right back around and headed for the Ravenclaw table. He scanned it carefully but didn’t see either Rose or Scorpius. He looked toward the entrance of the great hall and saw them entering. He raised a hand in greeting and saw rose cover her mouth. Scorpius stuffed a book into his bag hurriedly. Harry smiled. He made sure to walk slowly to allow them time to fully cover up whatever it was they were hiding.

“Hey guys. How are your classes going?”

Neither bothered answering such an inconsequential question.

“You talked to Scorpius’s dad,” Rose said. “Teddy said a couple of the Gryffindors heard him shouting. Why didn’t you consult me first? We could have planned what you were going to say!”

“Was he angry?” Scorpius asked. “He was angry at me, wasn’t he?”

Harry put his hands on their shoulders and steered them out of the great hall. He didn’t glance back, but he could have sworn he felt Anna’s eyes burning into the back of his neck, but maybe that was just his guilt. He would have preferred to have her present for this talk, but he couldn’t be sure she would let him speak. She was both more eloquent and logical than he was, so if it was to be fair he had to at the very least get his points in first.

“Of course he wasn’t angry at you,” Harry said as he steered them toward his quarters. “The only one he’s angry with is me. Oh. And also your godmother. She’s not very happy with me either.”

He’d forgotten to transfigure the chairs again, but there was a couch that was all right, if a bit too squishy. Scorpius and Rose sat down while he ran to fetch some food and tea things from the kitchen. the house elves kept his fridge stocked with all his favorites. He didn’t remember telling them what he liked, which made it a bit creepy, but it was wonderful, regardless.

“Mom says you should come visit this weekend,” Rose said, apropos of nothing. “I think she expects you to give a report on me. You’ll probably disappoint her. You haven’t been spying very well.”

Harry, who had been putting together his sandwich (he really liked sandwiches) set it down with an affronted air.

“What? I have loads to report. I’m an excellent spy.”

Scorpius giggled. Harry’s mouth fell open.

“What?” Rose asked.

“I didn’t know Malfoys could laugh,” Harry said.

“What?” both Rose and Scorpius said together.

“Well I knew they could do those mocking laughs. Lucius specialized in a patronizing chuckle and Malfoy did this obnoxious superior thing when we were in school together. But a regular laugh? From something funny? I never heard that.”

Scorpius’s eyebrows made a frown.

“What are you talking about? My dad laughs normally all the time.”

Harry sat up a little straighter. “What does it sound like?”

“Why do you care?” Rose asked.

Harry shot her a look that explicitly told her not to interrupt. Scorpius shrugged. “Like a normal laugh, I guess. Kind of quiet usually. But one time he laughed so hard he almost pissed himself. Usually when he laughs really hard he has to hold onto whatever’s around him.”

Harry tried to picture it--really tried--but he couldn’t. He couldn’t even remember a time when Malfoy looked happy.

“What happened?” Harry asked. “You know, the time he almost pissed himself.”

Scorpius giggled again. It was a sweet sound. “Oh. That. It was when Grandma Narcissa kissed one of the house elves full on the mouth one Christmas because she drank too much sangria. For the next 6 months every time dad saw her he asked how her lover was doing until grandma threatened to hex his mouth off.”

Harry shook his head, not because he didn’t believe the story (why would Scorpius lie about something so unbelievable?) but because it was so ridiculous that it existed in the first place. Malfoy didn’t laugh. He didn’t tease people in a fun way. And he definitely didn’t piss himself. There was also the image of a drunk Narcissa to contend with. Harry had only seen Malfoy’s mother a few times, but from what he remembered she was a rigid and tightly controlled woman. Harry leaned back in his chair, sandwich forgotten entirely. “Wow,” he said, though it didn’t seem sufficient.

“So what’s in your report,” Rose said. Apparently she didn’t realize her favorite non-uncle was in a state of shock.

Harry shook his head again, this time to clear it, and said, “Well I’ll have to tell her about possible quidditch team unity because of the combined practice sessions. She’ll want to hear about that. Her theory is that all of the wars we have is due to the separate housing bullshit. She says that the number of dark wizards that come from Slytherin is because of a self-fulfilling prophecy. Children are sorted into the house and told that all the bad wizards come from it. And then they’re surprised when guys like Voldemort pop out.”

Rose rolled her eyes. “I mean about us. We don’t care about that. Besides, I’ve heard mom’s speech about that a million times.”

Harry crossed his arms over his chest. “Well what do you want me to tell her?”

Rose grabbed Scorpius’s hand. “That he’s my best friend. And that Teddy and Hugo better be nice to him or I’ll hex their privates. Also he’s coming to the burrow for Christmas and I’ll be going to the manor for part of summer. We have it all figured out.”

Rose beamed, happy to have so much to report. Scorpius’s expression was more reserved, but he didn’t try to pull his hand from Rose’s.

“Wow,” Harry said again. He was beginning to hate the word and hoped he wouldn’t say it again. He focused on Scorpius, trying to read the expression in his eyes. There might have been fear, but it was hard to tell. The boy had obviously learned to hide.

“Best friends, huh? That’s great,” Harry said, and he meant it. He’d been worried about Rose. She was a know it all, and even pushier than her mother had been. She was proud and loud and Harry had been so worried she’d be the target of bullies. He’d never thought she’d meet her match in Scorpius, but he could understand it now that it was here. Scorpius was also too smart. Maybe even smarter than Rose. And his reserve and cautious nature might help keep her in check...or maybe Rose would just corrupt him and they’d run amok like Harry had done in his school years and both Malfoy and Hermione would come down hard on him blaming him for all their trouble. That was more likely.

“And you also have to tell dad he’s not allowed to make any more stuffy comments about Scorpius’s dad,” Rose said. “It’s rude and if he does I’m going to give him the silent treatment.”

Harry grinned. Ron’s struggle would be hilarious.

“I think that can be arranged...Your mom would be proud of you, Rosey.”

Rose sat up a little straighter and smoothed her hair back, preening. She was also vainer than Hermione ever had been. Harry wondered where she got it from. Maybe because he’d spoiled her terribly from the day she’d left the womb.

“What does your dad think about all this?” Harry asked Scorpius, who seemed to shrink from the question.

“Why are you so obsessed with his dad,” Rose asked.

Harry ignored her. People had been asking him that for years, and he’d learned to tune it out. He motioned for Scorpius to answer.

“He’s...worried,” Scorpius said. “He worries a lot. He wanted to home school me, which is stupid. I told him he’d cripple my social skills. Grandma took my side and he finally relented. It’s the whole death eater thing. He thinks kids will target me for hate crimes. He spent the whole summer teaching me defensive spells. My disease is a big part of it as well. We decided it was better not to really broadcast it--something I blew during our first flying class, I guess. He’s worried that if people know how vulnerable I am they’ll target me even more. He’s afraid people will target me to get to him. I’m not as strong as he is, not as aware. I’m the weak link, though he doesn’t like when I say that.”

“Holy shit,” Harry said. It was better than “wow” but not much better.

“He likes the idea of Rose, though. Says she’s a good ally to have. I don’t like that he thinks like that, like I’ll use her and her mom’s connections to protect myself.”

“But I don’t care,” Rose said. “If it works, that’s great. You can use me all you like.”

Scorpius blushed. Rose was still holding onto his hand. He gently tugged it free.

“I’m sure your father didn’t mean it like that,” Harry said, aware of the strangeness that came with taking Malfoy’s side. “I’ve seen people do nasty things, and former death eaters are definitely still active targets in the wizarding community. Many of them were forced to follow Voldemort, usually under threat of death for themselves or loved ones. They were some of the happiest with Voldemort’s defeat. But the public either doesn’t know that or refuses to accept it. The war evoked a lot of strong feelings. A lot of people died because of Voldemort, and people are still out for revenge. I know your father has been attacked in the past. I know a lot of it is because of the role of people like your great-aunt Bellatrix.”

“My father doesn’t blame her. He says he did bad things in the war. He thinks the attacks against him are justified.”

“He’s wrong,” Harry said. “I was there for those crimes. I was there when he was being goaded to kill Dumbledore and when he let the dark wizards into the castle. I saw how much he hated all of it. Your father tried to save me, did he ever tell you that? When I was discovered by death eaters. He refused to identify me despite the fact that Voldemort was right there in his house and his life was at risk. More than that were the expectations his family placed on him to serve Voldemort faithfully. He wanted nothing more than to make his father proud, and he gave that up to do what was right. Your father is a hero.”

Rose, Scorpius, and even himself sat for several shocked moments, not saying anything. Harry began to pick at his nails. He hadn’t known he’d had those thoughts. He tried not to dwell on the war, or on Malfoy, and to find that he still felt so strongly after all these years was unsettling.

He looked up, searching out Scorpius. He really looked so much like his father. Even the eyes were the same. Harry wanted to reach out and touch him, see if he was real, but he controlled himself.

“No,” Scorpius said. “He never told me. Did he really do that?”

There was a dawning wonder on his face.

“Of course,” Rose said. “It’s one of mom’s favorite stories. She blew up Harry’s face like a balloon. Dad says he looked like a pumpkin having an allergy attack.”

“But if he helped you then why...why does he think you hate him?” Scorpius asked. “He warned me specifically never to bother you, to stay out of your way. He said we couldn’t afford to antagonize you more than we already have.”

Harry felt a crowning sadness in his chest. He looked at Scorpius’s confusion and cradled the words in his mind. Did Malfoy regret all the shitty things they’d said and done to each other?

“Funny, he didn’t seem to have a problem antagonizing me yesterday,” Harry said. But that wasn’t really true either. Malfoy had been angry on his son’s behalf. And though he’d called Harry an idiot, it wasn’t so much because he was Harry.

“What did he say?” Scorpius asked. By the way he grimaced he wasn’t expecting anything positive.

Harry sucked in a breath, hemmed and hawed, and then decided to be blunt.

“He nixed it. He didn’t even really let me talk the idea through.” He paused. “I think the topic is too charged. I have to find a way to get him more receptive. I’m probably not the right person for the job. I thought maybe if I had Anna approach him…”

Scorpius laughed. That made the third time in just one sitting. Maybe Scorpius had a point about the Malfoys laughing thing.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Nothing. No. I think you should try that,” Scorpius said.

Harry narrowed his eyes. He felt like he was missing something.

“It’s just…you might find that it’s just as hard to convince her as it is to convince him,” Scorpius said.

Harry nodded. “Maybe. But I also have a lot more opportunities to bother Anna. I mean, when she isn’t actively trying to avoid all human interaction. And when she has classes. And when she’s preparing her potions…The point is that we’re not giving up. And if we want this to happen we’ve got to work together.”

Rose clapped her hands.

“Tell him about the spells, Score,” she said.

It was only when Scorpius began to dig in his book bag that Harry realized “Score” was “Scorpius.” He hoped he was there the first time Rose said it in front of Malfoy. He had a feeling the man would strongly object to the nickname.

Scorpius handed him a book. It was entitled “Safety spells: a book on preventative magic.”

“It’s got a lot of good stuff in it,” Rose said. She jerked her chin at Scorpius.

Scorpius nodded and began to speak as Harry cracked the book open and began to flip through it.

“I was telling Rose a little bit about my condition. Most healers know that there are diseases that resist magical healing. Well, my disease is not only invulnerable to magic, but exacerbated by it. A few months after I started walking I fell and scraped my knee. Naturally, my dad being the overprotective champion smotherer that he is, rushed over to heal it. When he tried a simple spell my knee began to bleed more heavily. When he tried a different spell, thinking he’d botched the first attempt, some of my skin began to melt and pool off with the blood. He didn’t try any more magic after that but apparated over with me to Saint Mungos. It was my first experience with apparition and didn’t sit well with me. Apparently I vomited all over him. I still tend to do that. Apparition sickness.”

“Scorpius,” Harry prodded.

“Right. Um. Getting to the point. The doctors fetched a special muggle disease specialist who was thankfully on call at the time. He mentioned that many blood diseases are magic resistant and brought us to a muggle hospital. I kind of wish I was older at the time because I wish I could remember his first reaction to being dumped into the muggle world. I bet it was priceless. I mean, yeah, seeing him all terrified for my wellbeing wouldn’t have been fun, but after the crisis passed and seeing him try to make his way back with me—“

“Scorpius,” Harry said again. He was smiling. The kid was cute when he babbled.

“So there was a lot of muggle doctors and hospitals after that and my dad and I have both become pretty proficient at passing as muggles. I had the advantage of being younger and pliable, but he has an eye for detail that surpasses everyone else’s, so we’re pretty well matched in that regard. Anyway, we’re still not sure what kind of magic will negatively affect me. We’ve tested a lot of things out—enough to make it safe for me to be out in public where random hexes can fly about, but we still don’t know everything. All healing spells are definitely out, as are certain transfiguration spells, so I’ll never be an animagus. Boo-hoo. That could have been cool. Also I have to beware of hexes involving open sores, boils, blood, or lacerations because of my clotting problem. Other than those I seem to be okay, but there’s always a chance of me reacting badly to magic so we’ll need to keep that in mind when we’re creating my special safety flying magic.”

Harry laughed. “Wow. All that as an introduction. I’m kind of afraid to let you continue.”

Scorpius rolled his eyes. “You and the rest of the world. Dad says it’s a good thing I’m naturally shy or I’d never shut up.”

“Shy?” Harry said

“Well not with you, obviously,” he said. “You have a lightningbolt.”

“He has one on his head too,” Rose pointed out. She jumped up and moved Harry’s hair aside. Scorpius’s eyes widened.

“That makes you doubly as cool!”

Harry reached over and ruffled the hair on both their heads. Rose swatted him. Scorpius gave him a shy smile and then smoothed his hair back into its perfect state of slickness.

“So tell me about your ideas,” Harry said.

And they did. A lot of them weren’t very good, but neither were Harry’s. The important part was that throughout all of it Scorpius was shiny eyed and animated. At one point he even jumped up and began to use charades to explain one of his more far-fetched ideas. They ate a lot of sandwiches and drank two pots of tea. Harry arrived late to the quidditch pitch, which didn’t set a good precedent. But he smiled throughout practice, so no one seemed to mind.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as promised, here is the next chapter. I'm starting to have a problem with how much I love scorpius. If I don't have a child exactly like him I'll be terribly disappointed.  
> I hope you guys are liking this Harry. He's a bit of a bumbler and isn't always the smartest about reading a situation, but he's TRYING, okay?   
> Next chapter will include some of the last of the story's set up and then things between Harry and Draco will pick up a lot from there. I will probably post the chapter tomorrow. enjoy!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6:

Harry woke up with a sore back. His thighs and neck were also sore, but his back was the worst. He tried not to think about how old he was getting and blamed the soreness on all the maneuvers he’d demonstrated at last nights practice. Naturally, the best cure for broom soreness was to get back on a broom, so after a couple swigs of juice and some sausage, he grabbed his lightningbolt and headed down to the pitch. It was early—stupidly early. The exercise had made him pass out before ten—before most of the first years had even put on their pajamas.

The sun was still clawing its way up over the horizon. So instead of the usual blue, the sky was a messy splash of pink and orange. Harry mounted his broom and soared out over the pitch. He practiced maneuvers on his own, feigning, ducking, and diving around imaginary opponents. But soon even the most complicated maneuvers grew boring—he’d never really been one for lone practice time. He was also starting to sweat. He pulled off his t-shirt and tied it around his broom. He smiled at the thought of what Scorpius would say about such an abomination. He didn’t want to go back inside yet. The weather was too nice for that. He began to fly across the grounds, not looking at anything in particular until he came across Hagrid’s hut. He began to descend, thinking he’d pop by for a quick “good morning” to the old half giant, when he noticed someone who was not Hagrid in Hagrid’s garden. He squinted and dropped lower. When he finally recognized who it was he grinned. He tightened his grip on his broom and went into a full nose dive. When he was only a few feet from the ground he pulled up sharply, stopping just inches from Anna’s nose.

“Mornin’” he called out and was met by a sharp shove.

“Merlin’s g-string!” Anna shouted and jumped a good foot and a half in the air. “What the fuck is your problem?”

Harry, who had only managed to keep his seat because of years of broom balancing, grinned.

“Just thought I’d come by and say hello. You know, do the neighborly thing.”

“I doubt you’ll be feeling all too neighborly with my wand shoved up your arse,” Anna muttered.

She had dirt all over her shoes and jeans. Harry found himself staring. He hadn’t thought her the type to wear muggle clothes. She had a basket in hand that held bunches of herbs.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“Not going around scaring defenseless women, that’s for sure,” she said. “I’m collecting potion ingredients. Hagrid’s given me free use of his garden. It has better soil than the spare field they offered me near the Herbology greenhouses…but don’t tell Neville I said that.

Harry’s smile grew wider. He would be telling Neville first chance he got.

“What about you?” Anna asked. “I assume this half-naked early morning broom thing is a ritual of yours?”

She had already bent to her work again. Her back purposely toward him.

Harry knelt down beside her. “Just a bit of flying. One of the perks of the job. Do you want some help?”

“No,” she said with zero hesitation. That stung a bit too. He wondered if Draco had told her about his lack of expertise in Snape’s potion classes.

“Come on. I can’t fuck up plant picking. Just tell me which ones. Or better yet, quiz me. What potion are you making?”

“None you’re familiar with.”

“Hey. I took six years of potions. Give me some credit.”

Anna turned her face just enough to roll her eyes at him before turning back to her work. “It’s not a published potion yet. Just something I’m working on.”

That got Harry’s attention. “Woah. You make up your own potions? You must be really advanced. Did you make up any potions I’d know about? How famous are you?”

“Obviously not famous enough for you to have heard of me,” she said. “I only do a little dabbling. Nothing special. You can start picking the Rowena leaves, but if you tear any I’ll force feed you veritesum and make you recount every embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you.”

“You’re scary,” Harry said. He began to pick leaves—carefully.

“Most people think so.”

“What about Malfoy? Is he scared of you too?”

“More than anyone else,” she said.

“How did you two meet?”

“At a muggle bookstore,” she said.

Harry stopped picking leaves to stare at her. The tips of her lips curved up.

“I was picking up books on herbs. He came to pick up books to read to Scorpius who was in the nearby hospital—one of his spontaneous bleeds. He asked for some help. He wasn’t familiar with muggle authors and didn’t know what was good.”

“That’s actually really adorable,” Harry said. “And you guys have been friends ever since?”

“Yup. When Scorpius turned four I named myself his godmother and no one else objected. It allows me to meddle in their lives more easily, you see, which is always great fun.”

Harry rested his hands on his knees. The sun was up now and beating down on his back. He knew he should put on his shirt or risk sunburn, but he didn’t really want to move.

“Do you think Malfoy would agree to see me again?” Harry asked.

Anna pulled up one last plant, roots and all, and then set her basket down. She looked up at the sun, probably calculating the hour, and then sat down in the dirt. Harry liked that, and followed suit.

“Don’t you think it’s too soon to bother him about the flying thing again?” she said.

Harry shook his head. “It’s not about that. It’s something Scorpius said to me last night. My conscience has been bothering me ever since.”

“What? Does the great Harry Potter have something to apologize for?”

Harry laid his chin down onto his open palm. “I’m being serious. I really fucked up. More so than usual.”

Anna pulled her knees up to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. She waited. Harry sighed.

“Scorpius said that Malfoy was planning on homeschooling him because of how worried he was about his son becoming a target. I think Scorpius thinks it’s all a lot of overprotective bologna, but it’s not. I can think of about a dozen people offhand who would gladly attack Scorpius to get at Malfoy, and only a handful of them are safely locked up in Azkaban. He’s not being overprotective. It’s a real danger. And it’s all my fault.”

Anna, who had laid her cheek down on her knees, picked her head back up. “What are you talking about?”

“Please, this had to have occurred to you already. The reason Malfoy’s as unpopular as he is? It’s because of me. I’m not so blind that I can’t see how stupidly important people consider my opinions just because I’m the boy who lived. I’m pretty mediocre. I don’t have out of the ordinary magic skills. I can’t just make up potions like you can, or invent spells like George. But because of my mom’s sacrifice I wound up being the kid who defeated Voldemort. I had endless help and bumbled my way through it. I didn’t know what I was doing. I was just a dumb kid with usually dumb opinions. But people didn’t see it that way. They thought I was some amazing savior and made some of my opinions the gold standard…and one of those things was the way I treated Malfoy.”

Harry tugged at his hair. Anna waited for him to finish.

“The thing between Malfoy and I…that should have stayed between me and him. No one else should have decided to hate him just because he and I fought. We had some bad fights, yes. There was a particular one…one in sixth year that I still sometimes have nightmares about. I almost killed him. It was an accident. I didn’t know what that spell did…I still remember him lying there in the water. I was terrified. There was so much blood and he was so still…”

Harry balled up his hands. “I should have reached out to him after the war. I should have made gestures to show the public that he was a good man—a man with remorse who just wanted to live his life and raise his son. But I figured he wouldn’t want to see me. I didn’t think people would continue to threaten him. I thought everyone would want to forget the war, put it all behind them so that we could rebuild and recover. If I’d known this would keep happening I would have…”

Anna touched his shoulder. It was the first time she’d ever done so. He expected the touch to be delicate, but it was firm and had real warmth in it. “It’s not your fault. They would have hated him regardless. You didn’t force him to be a death eater.”

The hand felt nice, but Harry shrugged out from under it, feeling too guilty to accept comfort.

“But maybe I did,” he said. “In first year, before we were even in school I met Malfoy in Madam Malkin’s. He held out his hand to me. He wanted to be friends. But he made a disparaging comment about Hagrid so I rebuffed him. But what if I’d become his friend? What if I’d shown him there were other paths open to him than the one he’d been raised for? Damn it, he was a smart kid. Much smarter than me. He was better than that, deserved better than to become a death eater and to be hated by everyone. He was misunderstood and lonely. I’m sure of it. You know how you chose to go into Slytherin because it was expected of you? Well that was his life too. He was never given any choices. Maybe if I’d just listened to the hat and let it put me in Slytherin—“

“Harry. Stop.”

That was another first, being called his first name. But he wouldn’t fall for it. He had held these thoughts back for almost twenty years and there was no stopping them now.

“I’m not bragging when I say this, but I know I could have helped. It would have taken work, sure. Malfoy is proud, exceedingly so. And he’s a coward by nature, so the fact that he did show bravery—immense bravery—later in his life is a lot more impressive than what I’ve done. Why don’t more people see it? I mean, look at his son! I’m blown away by Scorpius. He is the most well rounded intelligent and mannered boy I’ve ever met. If it were him in my place he would have defeated Voldemort by the time he was thirteen, I have no doubt about that. If I’d had any doubts left over about the kind of man Malfoy was, seeing his son was enough to erase them. The boy knows he’s loved. He knows it so well he can even take it for granted.”

Harry’s stood up just to have something to do. He also didn’t like how much vulnerability he was showing to a woman he’d only met a few days ago. He turned his face away.

“Do you think it’s too late to change things? If I ally myself with the Malfoys now that might give pause to those with revenge in mind. I’m willing to try—I want to try. Do you think he’d let me?”

He had to look at Anna then to receive her answer. She stood up and looked him directly in the eye. It was hard for both of them, but neither looked away.

“I think he’d like that,” Anna said, voice soft. “You’re not the only one with regrets.”

She stood up and grabbed her basket “I have to go,” she said. “Class. Teaching.”

Harry saw something in the stiffness of her movements that spoke to her agitation.

Anna looked at him one last time. “Write to him,” she said. “Tell him what you told me. Promise.”

Harry didn’t even pause to think about it. “I will,” he said.

Anna walked passed him. Harry grabbed her wrist. “Anna, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have just dumped on you like that. I just—“

Anna twisted her head around and pecked him on the cheek. Harry was so stunned that he let her go. He said nothing as she ran back to the castle. He pressed his hand to his face. He watched her until she was just a speck in the distance. And still he stayed there, a statue in the garden.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. I'm back again. It seems that the more I iron out the plot for this story the longer I realize it's going to be so I hope you folks are in it for the long haul. Also i hope you're ready for lots of Draco/Harry time because that's all the next few chapters are going to be.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” Hermione asked for the sixth time.

Harry had his hand on the doorknob, but he let go of it to receive his third goodbye hug.

“Of course. It’s just Malfoy. I know how to deal with him,” he said.

“It’s never just Malfoy with you,” she muttered. “Besides, it’s different now. It’s not going to be the usual ‘sling insults and hexes at each other until the teachers intervene’ kind of thing—Or wait, is it? Tell me it isn’t.”

“Who knows,” Harry said. “Do you think I’ve matured since my school days?”

“Not at all,” Hermione said. “Thankfully Malfoy has. He’s almost intolerably adultish now. Did you see the story in the prophet a couple months back? He invented an immediate reversal potion for polyjuice. How brilliant is that? I was writhing in jealousy when I read. He’s surpassed me, you know. When we were in school together I was ahead of him, grades wise, but for the past too many years I’ve been in law and politics letting my brain atrophy while he’s winning potions award after potions award and having his suave looking face in nearly every issue of ‘Potioneer Frontier.’ It’s enough to make me want to punch him again. Maybe I should quit the Wizengamot and go back into academia. Arithmancy or Transfiguration. I was always better at those than he was.”

Harry snorted. There it was again. But he had more important issues to deal with at present.

“Can I go, or do you want to rant some more?”

“No. I’m done,” she said. “Smartass.”

“Are you sure? If you want to tag along to this little meeting, be my guest.”

“Nah. I’d hate to ruin the heartfelt reunion.”

Harry felt himself go pale. He’d been worried about the meeting dissolving into a duel, but what if the opposite happened? What if Malfoy said nice things to him? Would he faint? Burst into tears? He didn’t know. It had never happened before. And the mystery was terrifying.

“Oh stop it,” Hermione said. “You’ll be fine. You survived that touching little scene with Professor Potions, didn’t you?”

“Anna,” Harry said. “And I knew I shouldn’t have told you about her.”

“Of course you should have. She’s the first girl you’ve liked in ages. You had better keep me updated. I’ll know if you’re hiding anything.”

She tried to give him yet another hug, but he darted out of the way. It was her punishment for being a nag. He yanked the door open.

“You should invite her over next time you come to dinner,” Hermione called when he was half halfway to the front gate. “I need to form an opinion for myself.”

Harry muttered something like “over my dead body,” and hurried away. The last thing he needed was for Ron and Hermione to ruin whatever it was that was blossoming between him and Anna. Well, maybe blossoming was too strong a word, but they were getting friendlier. Harry hadn’t raised the broom thing again with her…yet. But he was working up to it. Probably. He had ideas. He just wasn’t sure if Anna was the right person to bounce them off of.

Writing to Malfoy directly had been hard, and spilling all that mushy crap about old times? Even harder. But he’d promised Anna he’d do it, and he’d been serious about wanting to ally himself with Malfoy. So he wrote. It was a long letter that took him three days to get right. There were many drafts. Eventually, when he couldn’t bear to look at the stupid thing any longer, he mailed it off. He expected a howler in response. Or worse, no answer at all. But a reply did come less than two hours later. It was short.

_Potter,_

_That cannot have been an easy letter to write. I have much to say to you as well. As for your suggestion about meeting in public: thank you for valuing my son’s safety as much as you do. I shall be glad to take you up on that offer. I have made dinner reservations for two at Patronus, eight o’clock, Saturday. Please let me know if you’re interested, and if that time works for you._

_–Draco_

When Harry received the letter he read it over three times and then raced down to Anna’s quarters to ask her if it looked like a forgery. She called him an idiot, but that still hadn’t placated him.

“There’s not enough snark,” he insisted. “This doesn’t sound like him at all.”

“Well maybe he’s feeling awkward,” Anna said. “This is new territory for you two, isn’t it? Maybe he’s not sure how to speak to you anymore.”

“Well he should talk the way he usually does,” Harry said. “Anything else is just weird.”

And then there was the whole “Draco” bit at the end. He laid in bed for over an hour that night trying to puzzle that one out. Did that mean Malfoy wanted him to call him by his first name? It couldn’t be. He’d tried that during their little argument and they’d both nearly had aneurisms. Anna told him not to focus on it too much and to just do what felt comfortable. But nothing felt comfortable. His stomach got more and more knotted with every passing hour so that by the time he apparated from Ron and Hermione’s place to Hogsmeade he was ready to throw up.

Anna had given him directions to the restaurant, but when he got there he was sure she’d made some kind of mistake. The place was too elegant. It was all glass and light and wood paneling. A man in sleekly fashionable dress robes led harry to the maître d who asked after his reservation. Harry was almost too distracted to reply. The ceiling had the most intricate web of magical light he had ever seen. The lights carefully furled themselves into patterns, twisting and winking in endless variations. He wondered how many hours of charms work went into its upkeep every week.

“It should be under a Draco Malfoy,” Harry said. He wasn’t really sure. He’d never been to a restaurant even half as fancy as this. He felt woefully underdressed, even though the black robes he was wearing were his favorite set.

“Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. We’ve been expecting you. Your partner is already waiting.”

The maître d personally led him to his table. Harry wished he hadn’t. The last thing he needed was an audience for the expression he let loose upon seeing Malfoy. He didn’t have a mirror, but he was pretty sure he looked half fish and half confunded. But it wasn’t his fault. How was he supposed to expect Malfoy in a suit? An exceptionally tailored, and most certainly exceptionally expensive, muggle suit.

Malfoy rose to greet him and held out his hand. Harry, blinking, and not altogether sure he was in his home dimension, took it. Malfoy’s hand was warm, but not hot. Pleasant and dry, exactly what Harry’s wasn’t. He was sweating. Apparition made him clammy even on the best of days—and today was not the best of days. But if Malfoy noticed, he didn’t show it. His face was serious as he released Harry’s hand and gestured toward his seat.

Thankfully the Maitre d left and Harry was able to take in a half formed breath.

“I apologize for my attire,” Malfoy said as they sat. “I came directly from the muggle pharmacy. I figured that with your upbringing you wouldn’t find it strange, though I realize I’ve made myself conspicuous here. If it bothers you I can apparate to the manor and put on something more suitable.”

Harry felt like the evening, which had started as surreal was quickly heading into the realm of bizarre. Malfoy in muggle clothes. Malfoy apologizing to him and shaking his hand. Malfoy being called his partner by the maître d in the fanciest restaurant on the planet. Malfoy looking at him intently trying to figure out why the fuck he still looked like a fish.

“No, I, of course you don’t need to—you look excellent. I mean, fine. You’re very fine. I mean. _Fuck_. Can you say something horrible to me? You know, like old times? I feel very out of my depth right now and very much like a fucking idiot.”

Malfoy smiled, and it was dangerous, because it was not at all like the Malfoy smiles Harry was used to. He felt his world slip a little more. His robes felt too tight. And he was overheating. He didn’t understand how. A restaurant this fancy should have been able to afford air conditioning.

But then, right before his eyes, Malfoy’s dangerous smile changed, curving more sharply. It filled slowly with contempt and superiority.

“Well of course, Potter. You’re always very much like a fucking idiot,” he said. “When have you not been?”

Harry breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks,” he said. “That’s a lot better.”

Malfoy picked up his linen napkin and began to wipe his hands. Harry wasn’t sure how he managed so much snootiness with just a napkin, but Malfoy was talented that way.

“All your half-blood cooties,” Malfoy explained. “I’ll have to stop by Saint Mungos on the way home. Inferiority isn’t contagious, is it?”

Harry laughed. Malfoy set down the napkin.

“None of that. If I think you’re starting to enjoy my bullying it won’t be fun anymore.”

The smile Malfoy wore now looked smug and satisfied.

“Is it weird to say that I’ve missed that?” Harry said.

He replayed what he just said in his head and clapped a hand over his eyes.

“Okay, no, don’t answer that.”

“Incredible,” Malfoy said.

“Shut up,” Harry said.

“Your life must be even sadder than I suspect it is.”

Harry removed the hand from his eyes.

“In my defense, what I said is not actually as weird as it sounds. There’s the whole background to consider.”

Malfoy glanced up at the ceiling in what was clearly meant to convey “I’m about to hear some truly stupid shit.”

Harry was happy to comply with the expectation.

“It’s all about stability, see. I didn’t have very much of it growing up, and I had even less of it at Hogwarts. There was always craziness going on and I was like a magnet for it. I don’t think a week went by without some special brand of Harry Potter level bullshit finding me. But then there was my thing with you—and it was so easy, and always the same. You’d sneer at me, I’d scowl at you. You’d call me an idiot, I’d call you a pansy. We’d hex each other. I’d get detention. You’d get off scot free. The resentment would build, and then we’d do it all over again. It was calming in its predictability.”

Malfoy snorted, but somehow it managed to come out sounding more elegant and elitist when he did it.

“Are you trying to tell me that I was the cornerstone of your childhood?”

His tone was clearly sarcastic, but Harry latched onto it anyway.

“Well yeah. I mean, Ron and Hermione were there, of course. But they were always bickering, and they’d get into fights and give each other the silent treatment and then I’d have to try and patch things up between them and it could be so exhausting. And then in sixth year they got together, and I still loved them but, you know, there wasn’t as much space for me with them anymore, and just—“

“Merlin’s crocs, Potter, just stop.”

And Harry did. Mostly because of the gift Malfoy had just given him.

“Oh my god,” Harry said. “You know what crocs are. This can’t be happening. I can’t believe a Malfoy just let that word cross his lips.”

“Oh for the love of—shut up. Just shut up. They’re comfortable, okay? And waterproof. Great for gardening.”

Harry’s head exploded.

“What the _fuck_ , Malfoy?”

He could barely get the words out he was laughing so hard.

“You can’t possibly—there’s no way…YOU in CROCS. Draco fucking Malfoy in CROCS.”

Malfoy swatted his head. “God damn it. They’re gonna throw us out of here if you don’t—“

But then Malfoy started to laugh. It was contagious. But that only set Harry off again. He couldn’t breathe, and his eyes were wet.

“In that fucking suit,” Harry wheezed, “With the fucking trousers hiked up and a pair of camo print crocs waddling around the manor garden. I’m gonna shit myself.”

“Leopard print,” Malfoy corrected, with his hands over his face. His shoulders were shaking. “Not camo print, you uncouth philistine.”

Nope. That was worse. Draco in leopard print.

“Classy bitch,” Harry choked.

That did it. Malfoy threw back his head and _laughed._ At this point Harry was laughing so hard no sound was coming out, but he was still aware, just a little, so that when Malfoy reached over and clamped onto his arm, Harry remembered what Scorpius had said.

_He does need to hang onto something_ , Harry thought. And it was enough to finally turn the tide on his laughter. He felt control begin to return to him. As his breathing grew more regular Harry made himself focus on Malfoy and memorize everything he was seeing: the taut lines in the man’s neck, the way his eyes were squeezed shut, the way, even now, Malfoy was clinging to his arm as if it was the only thing tethering him to this world. _He can laugh,_ Harry thought, and then, even more importantly, _He’s beautiful when he laughs._

Harry was still paralyzed by that thought when Malfoy finally let go of his arm.

“Fuck,” said the blonde as he smoothed back his hair.

“You can say that again,” Harry said. All around them were witches and wizards in various states of shock. One of them, a woman with what looked like a stuffed parakeet perched on top of an elaborate hairdo, had her fork frozen midway to her open mouth. A wizard with a large mustache was dabbing at his forehead repeatedly with the linen napkin. He looked like he’d just had to fight off a resurrected Voldemort.

Harry looked at Malfoy.

“Want to get out of here?”

Malfoy gave the parakeet woman a little wave.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Harry sprang to his feet and offered his hand to the blonde. As Malfoy took it, Harry hauled him up and pulled him to his side. They stood there, hands linked, for what couldn’t have been longer than two seconds. But in that time Harry saw everything he needed to see in the man’s face. This was a stronger, better Malfoy than the one he’d known. He just hoped that Malfoy saw the same improvements in him.

“Hogshead?” he asked.

“Let’s get sloshed,” Malfoy agreed.

The maître d cleared his throat. Somewhere around them a camera flashed. Harry thought about the crocs again and thought he might just have to buy himself a matching pair.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter we see the great power of crocs in soothing even the greatest rifts among people. Stay tuned for more of this idiot pair. Neither is prepared for what is going to hit them. Alcohol, of course, doesn't help.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8:

“That really is a nice suit,” Harry said. “You should only wear muggle clothes.”

They’d each had four fire whiskies, but Malfoy was holding it better than he was. Harry didn’t drink too often. He shouldn’t have been drinking now considering he had quidditch practice with the Gryffindors the next day, but that didn’t seem as important as it had been sober.

“Hell no. Mother would flay the skin off my ass. She has this habit of sniffing loudly whenever I show up without proper wizard attire.”

“What about when you wear your crocs?” Harry asked. His laugh turned into a hiccup.

“Don’t you dare start that up again,” Malfoy warned.

Harry’s head was fuzzy and the room was so warm, like a blanket. He put his head down on the bar.

“No more drinks for him,” Malfoy told the bartender. “He’s had enough.”

“Look at you, being all assertive,” Harry said. “Very dad-like.”

Malfoy gave a theatric shudder. “Thankfully my son is nothing like you.”

The thought of Scorpius made Harry smile. “Such a good boy,” Harry said. “So sweet. Looks exactly like you did. Even has the same eyes.”

Malfoy chuckled. “Now I know you’re drunk. I bet you don’t even—what color are my eyes, Potter?”

“Grey,” harry said. “But not like an ugly storm cloud grey. A nice grey. They look really good with your hair. I used to think you dyed it because I never saw hair so white blonde before. But you don’t, do you?”

Something crossed over Malfoy’s face. Discomfort, almost pain. But before Harry could ask about it the expression disappeared.

“No,” Malfoy said. “I don’t.”

Harry lifted his face off the bar. He leaned in close to Malfoy.

“Why did you sign your letter ‘Draco’?” Harry asked. “Do you want me to call you that?”

Malfoy pressed back on Harry’s shoulders, putting a little distance between them. “I…I’m not sure. It sounded right at the time. You’d just shared something personal. I figured a greater degree of intimacy was appropriate.”

Harry mulled that over for a second. He wanted to put his face back on the bar. It had felt so comfortable there, but he also wanted to study Malfoy’s face while he spoke to make sure truth was coming out of it.

“But you addressed the letter to ‘Potter,’” Harry said. “That’s not very intimate.”

“Well I didn’t know whether you felt comfortable with me calling you Harry,” Malfoy said. “I felt it was all right to take liberties with my own name, but maybe not as much with yours.”

Harry poked Malfoy’s forehead. “You think about everything, don’t you?”

Malfoy pulled Harry’s hand away and placed it on the bar. “I try to, yes.”

“That doesn’t sound fun.”

Malfoy blew out a sigh. “No. It usually isn’t.”

Harry began to hum a song. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was, but it made his lips vibrate and that was interesting. Then he remembered something.

“But everyone calls me Harry,” he said. “Even people I’ve just met. So why is it a big deal if you call me that too?”

“I don’t know. Because that’s not what we do.”

“But we could,” Harry said.

Malfoy didn’t answer.

“You’re sad,” Harry said, the thought just occurring to him. “Did I make you sad?”

“No,” Malfoy said.

Harry leaned in close again.

“You’re lying. You always stare when you lie, like you’re trying to make it extra convincing.”

Malfoy looked startled. He blinked, the way he didn’t when he was lying. “Is that so?”

“Yes. You’ve been like that for as long as I remember.”

Malfoy chuckled. It wasn’t a happy sound. “Know a lot about me, do you?”

Harry tilted his head. It made his hair fall in his face, but he didn’t really mind.

“I think so,” he said. “But not as much as I used to.”

Malfoy said nothing again. He began to twist his empty glass in his hand.

“I used to watch you,” Harry said. “All the time. Hermione said it wasn’t healthy.”

Malfoy jerked his head up. A little alarm bell began to go off in Harry’s head. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe he wasn’t supposed to be talking so much. But what harm could talking do? It was just words. And the words felt good. Why had he never told Malfoy any of this before? He could feel his chest growing freer. Lighter. There was suddenly more air in the room than he knew what to do with.

“Draco,” Harry said. And then he laughed. It felt so good. “Draco,” he said again. “Draco.”

Malfoy stood up. He pulled Harry off his stool. “I’m taking you back to the castle,” he said.

Harry looked around, bewildered, and not understanding why he wasn’t in his chair anymore. “What? No. I want to stay here. With you. I like talking to you.”

But Malfoy ignored him. He dropped money onto the bar top and then began pulling Harry to the door.

“But Draco, I want to—“

“Don’t call me that.”

“But in the letter you wrote—“

“Just don’t.”

It was nice outside, late enough that a good breeze was blowing. Harry sucked in the air and laughed. He threw up his free hand and tried to touch the stars.

“Look, Draco! Look at the sky. It’s like some asshole threw a million billion diamonds up and they forgot to fall down.”

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. “Are you always so silly when you drink?”

“Probably not,” Harry said. “But the last time I got drunk I kissed a man at a party.”

Malfoy spluttered. Which was weird, because it almost sounded like he was choking, but he wasn’t even eating anything.

“It was midnight on New Year’s,” Harry explained. “You’re supposed to kiss someone then. I don’t know why.”

Malfoy was breathing weird. He looked exasperated. Harry thought about telling him to calm down, but things didn’t usually go down well when he made that suggestion to the people in his life.

“Who was he?” Malfoy asked.

“I don’t know,” Harry said.

“Then why did you kiss him?”

Harry shrugged. “Because he was there?”

Malfoy did something weird with his face. He might also have rubbed at his eyes.

“He might have had a cute butt,” Harry said, trying to be helpful. “I don’t really remember.”

There was a little bit of silence. Harry tried to touch the stars again. He failed, but it didn’t really bother him.

“So you kiss boys,” Malfoy said.

“Just the one,” Harry said. “I was drunk.”

“Right,” Malfoy said.

“But I’ve thought of doing it other times.”

“What?” Malfoy said.

“What?” Harry repeated.

“You think about kissing boys.”

“Well, yeah,” Harry said. “Sometimes. Doesn’t everybody?”

“Oh my god,” Malfoy said.

“Touch the stars, Draco,” Harry said. “You’re a little taller than me. I bet you could do it.”

“I’m not touching the stars.”

“Why not?”

Malfoy did the eye rubbing thing again.

“I don’t know. I guess I don’t want to knock them out of the sky,” he said.

Harry laughed, amazed. He couldn’t remember the last time everything had been so easy.

He stopped walking. Malfoy was forced to stop alongside him.

“Come on, Potter, we’re almost at the castle.

“Harry,” Harry said.

“What?”

“Call me Harry.”

“Um…no.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“I won’t move until you do.”

Malfoy folded his hands across his chest. Harry found that hilarious. He decided to copy him.

“Seriously?” Malfoy said. “How old are you?”

“Thirty seven,” Harry said. “Same as you. How could you forget?”

“Ridiculous,” Malfoy said, but he was smiling.

It was a nice smile. Like the one he thought was dangerous before. It didn’t seem as dangerous now. Harry uncrossed his arms. He touched Malfoy’s shoulders.

“Draco,” he said.

Malfoy uncrossed his arms. “Harry,” he said.

Harry froze. “Oh no,” he said. “That feels very strong.”

Malfoy chuckled. It was that sad sound again, and it was unbearable. Harry put his arms around him. He wasn’t really aware of doing it. His arms just sort of slid. But then it was happening, his hands were on Malfoy’s back and his face was in Malfoy’s neck and it felt good. It felt _right_. And the best part of it all? Malfoy’s hands were coming around him too.

“We shouldn’t do this,” Malfoy said. “We don’t do this.”

Harry breathed in the smell of Malfoy. It was a deeply familiar smell. Which was weird. Because if someone had asked him to describe Malfoy before this he wouldn’t have known what to say. But he knew it—knew it well. And it was stronger than he’d ever smelled it. Malfoy was right there. He was all over Harry. His smell was everywhere. Harry sighed, every bit of him content.

“I like this,” he said. “I like this a lot.”

Malfoy said nothing. Harry squeezed him, and he was getting ready to maybe rock a little with him, almost like a hug dance, but then Malfoy was moving, and Harry didn’t really get why, until he realized Malfoy was pulling _away_ and by that point it was already too late to hold on anymore.

“Draco,” Harry said.

But Malfoy was different now. Harder. He grabbed Harry’s arm and tugged him along. Harry tried to talk to him, but Malfoy wouldn’t answer. He marched them through the gate and up to the castle, all without talking. Harry didn’t like it one bit, until he realized that Malfoy was taking him to McGonagall’s quarters, which was okay, because that was where Harry stayed now. And maybe Malfoy would come in, and they’d eat good things from the fridge—maybe even sandwiches. And that would be so nice. And maybe they could hug again. They could even have a sleepover. Harry was feeling a little shaky in the magic department, but Malfoy was steady enough. He could conjure another bed. And he could borrow Harry’s pajamas. That made Harry laugh. Maybe he’d give Malfoy the orange ones with the Chudley Cannons logo. They were hideous. And Harry realized he really wanted to see Malfoy dressed in hideous things. Like those crocs. Leopard crocs and the Chudley Cannons pajamas.

“Will you keep it down?” Malfoy hissed. “You’ll wake the whole castle.”

That was when Harry realized he was laughing, and loudly too.

“Do you like the Chudley Cannons?” he asked.

“Of course not,” Malfoy said. “Rubbish team.”

They were in his hallway, Harry realized. And there was the door.

“Great work, Draco! You found it!” Harry said. He was very impressed.

Malfoy flung the door open and barged inside.

“Right, drink some water and go straight to bed,” he directed. “And now I’m using your fireplace.”

Harry clapped his hands to his face. “Wait. You’re LEAVING?”

It was the most absurd idea he’d ever heard.

“Of course,” Malfoy said. “What did you expect? A sleepover?”

There was way too much sarcasm in his voice for Harry to point out that yes, that was exactly what he’d been planning. Malfoy went to the mantel and grabbed some floo powder. Harry had a bad case of déjà vu.

“Wait,” he said. “Why are you always leaving?”

Malfoy tossed the powder in. It looked much cooler when he did it. When Harry tried he usually got powder on his shoes.

“Because we both have work to do tomorrow and need some sleep before we have to do it.”

Harry didn’t like that because it made a lot of sense. He hated losing to logic.

“At least give me another hug before you go,” he said.

Malfoy stepped into the flames. “I don’t think so.”

Harry took a step forward. One of his hands came up. Malfoy saw it and something in his face softened.

“Good night,” he said. “Harry.”

And then he was gone.

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So drunk harry is based off of drunk me. We're both useless silly things once alcohol is involved. Poor Draco. He's always going to have to be the responsible one.   
> (As to those of you who can no longer picture Draco without his crocs, I invite you to imagine him in both the crocs and Harry's horrible chudley cannons pajamas. Beautiful, isn't it?)


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9:

Harry woke up with a headache. When he tried to sit up in bed a hammer came down on the inside of his brain. He fell back onto his pillow.

“Ugh,” he said.

His mouth was so dry it might crack at any moment.

“Water,” he said.

He looked to his bedside to see if by some miracle drunk Harry had left him some. He found something else. Harry sat up, this time ignoring the pounding in his head. He grabbed the note.

“Drink this,” it said. “Followed by a glass of water.”

There was no signature, but he knew that handwriting.

“Draco,” he said.

Because he remembered everything. The restaurant. Malfoy’s suit. The lady with the parakeet hat. Malfoy’s crocs. The firewhisky. Malfoy’s stare. The bar pressed against his cheek. Malfoy’s tugging. The stars. Malfoy’s arms around him. Harry pressed his hands over his eyes and breathed in slowly. Then he picked up the glass full of bright green potion and drank it straight down. He expected something nasty—hangover potions were always gross. A punishment for drinking. But this one wasn’t. It tasted like green tea with a hint of mint and maybe aloe? When he set the glass down he could already feel the potion taking effect, and by the time he made it to the kitchen sink to have the glass of water his mind was clear.

“Draco,” he said again, forcing himself to consider it.

It was harder to say without the alcohol, and that was _without_ Malfoy in the room. He tucked the name into a pocket in his brain, committed to analyzing it more later.

“Right,” he said, and then he pissed into the kitchen sink because he couldn’t be arsed to make his way to the bathroom. It was going to be that kind of day. McGonagall was probably turning in her grave. He found he didn’t much care.

“Right,” he said again, and grabbed the nearest robe at hand. It happened to be the one he’d worn last night. He pulled it on over his pajamas.

“Right,” he said, a final time, and then he left his quarters and made his way to the dungeon. He didn’t bother stopping at her room. He went straight to the potion’s classroom.

“Hiya, Anna,” he said, making her jump. “You look lovely.”

She was stirring a cauldron full of something sludgy. It looked familiar.

“Damn it, Potter, you’ll make me lose the stroke count,” she said.

He went right over to her, kissed the top of her head, and said, “Polyjuice?”

She whipped around.

“Careful,” Harry said. “The stroke count.”

Anna cursed, but kept stirring. “What do you want?”

“I have a conundrum,” he said. “What’s the polyjuice for?”

“Fifth years,” Anna said. “They’ll be studying it tomorrow.”

“You’re the most conscientious lesson planner I know,” he said.

“Are you kidding? Snape used to plan all his lessons months in advance.”

“Maybe,” Harry said. “But he was a butthead of a teacher. Very smart, sacrificed a lot, but a butthead teacher nonetheless.”

“You shouldn’t talk shit about the dead,” Anna said.

Harry rested his chin on her shoulder. “I don’t honestly think he’d care.”

Anna shoved his face away. “You’re being awfully familiar with me today. Did something happen last night?”

“Yes,” Harry said. “My conundrum.”

He rested his chin on her shoulder again. Anna prepared to swat him.

“Careful,” he said again. It was fun to repeat himself. “The stroke count.”

Anna cursed him some more, but left his chin where it was. It was nice. He felt peace steal over him. He really liked whatever was in that green potion. Hermione was right to be jealous of Malfoy. He was an excellent potioneer.

“Anna,” he said. “I call you by your first name. Why do you call me ‘Potter’?”

Anna’s hand stuttered, but she didn’t mess up. The count was still fine.

“I don’t know,” she said. “I guess because that’s what Draco calls you.”

“He didn’t last night,” Harry said.

He waited for an explosion. He watched her hands carefully. There might have been a slight tremor, but nothing really noticeable.

“Damn, it’s hard to shock you Slytherins,” he said mournfully.

“Sorry to disappoint,” Anna said.

But he wasn’t quite done.

“Are you in love with him?” he asked.

This time Anna jerked her shoulder up, bumping his chin off.

“Ow,” said Harry. “What was that for?”

“Stupid questions,” Anna said.

“What was stupid about it?”

“Everything,” Anna said. “Now get out of here. If this potion is ruined because of you I’ll make you drink it and see what happens.”

“You threaten me a lot,” Harry said.

“You don’t respond well to simple courtesy,” Anna said.

Harry shrugged and leaned over.

“I swear if you put your chin back on my shoulder I’ll curse it off.”

Harry sighed. “Again with the threats.”

Anna chuckled. That reminded Harry of something.

“When’s the last time you saw Draco laugh—like really laugh.”

Anna twisted her head just enough to catch Harry in her peripherals. “Why?”

“Because I need to know what causes it,” he said. “I have to make him do it again.”

Why?” Anna asked again. Apparently she also liked how it felt to repeat things.

“Because it’s awesome,” he said. “And it feels good. Also satisfying. Really good and really satisfying.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                 Anna pulled the stirring rod out and set it down beside the cauldron. Before Harry could say anything about the stirring count she shot him a look. “It’s done…” she said, “for now. So don’t touch it or disturb it in any way. In fact, get away from the desk. You can help me pick through the tubers. I think there’s a few rotting. I smelled something off yesterday.”

Harry followed her to the cabinet. He felt a little like a puppy and felt he didn’t really mind. But when he stopped beside her she pointed to a barrel across the room.

“That’s a lot of tubers,” Harry said.

“Well then, you better get sorting,” she said. “And I suppose while you do you can tell me if you wasted the night being an asshole or if you actually accomplished anything.”

Harry began telling her the night’s events. He told her about the too-fancy restaurant, and Malfoy’s suit.

“Thanks for not warning me, by the way,” Harry said. “I was expecting a normal restaurant, not whatever that was. I was the most underdressed person there. Malfoy probably thought I was a hobo.”

“I’m sure you looked fine,” Anna said. Easy for her to say. She hadn’t been there.

But when it came to the part where they left the restaurant, Harry found himself feeling a little weird. He found he wasn’t ready to share what had happened at the bar, or after. It was too new—too delicate and he hadn’t even had a chance to examine how he felt about it yet. So he told her that they got a few drinks and had a nice time and that was it.

Anna cocked an eyebrow at his abrupt conclusion, but didn’t try to pry. She didn’t mention the Scorpius flying plan either, or the fact that Harry hadn’t brought it up even though it had been the perfect opportunity to do so. He left her to her potions once the tubers were sorted and went back to his quarters to dress. He found he was starving. The feeling brought him back to his school years. Quidditch had always made him hungry. As he dressed he looked at the note Malfoy had written again. It had no feeling in it, no indication that things had really warmed between them—but the potion had done that. Nobody brewed a specialty hangover potion for just anyone.

Harry picked up the note and slid it into the pocket of his robes. It had been another thing harry had conveniently forgotten to mention to Anna. And, he realized, he wouldn’t be mentioning it to anyone else—not even Hermione. Harry’s chest felt warm. It was the feeling of having a nice secret. So as he made his way down to the great hall for breakfast he felt secure in the knowledge that last night was his and Malfoy’s alone. That’s probably why it came as such a shock when Neville yanked him into his seat and shoved the Daily Prophet in his face.

“Explain,” Neville said. His voice had none of its usual lightness. “Right now.”

Harry wanted to shove him away and grab some eggs and sausage—he really was very hungry—but the picture on the front page kept him rooted to his seat. Like all magical pictures, this one was moving. As Harry stared he smoothed the newspaper out onto the table and looked closely. He needn’t have bothered. The picture was very big, and there was no mistaking what he was seeing.

It was him and Malfoy of course. And they were laughing. Well, laughing was probably not strong enough a word. Someone had captured the tail end of the crocs debacle. Malfoy had his hand on Harry’s arm. Harry remembered how tight his grip had been. Once again Harry was struck by how good Malfoy looked when he was laughing. Picture Harry was obviously appreciating it too. He was leaning in close to Malfoy, and his hand was up, reaching. It looked like he had been aiming to touch Malfoy. Harry didn’t remember that. It seemed like something he should’ve remembered. And worse, there was an expression of wonder on Picture Harry’s face. He hadn’t thought it would be visible. Or that it would look so…embarrassing.

 “Is there such a thing as wizarding photoshop?” Harry asked. “Because this has probably been photoshopped.

Neville didn’t bother to answering. He had his own questions.

“What the fuck were you doing at a restaurant with Malfoy?”

“It wasn’t a date,” Harry said, and immediately wondered why he’d said that. No one had mentioned the word “date.”

Neville went from looking “startled” to full on concerned.

“What?” he said.

Harry shrank back. “What?” he answered.

Neville grabbed the newspaper, rolled it up, and swatted Harry with it.

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” he snapped. “What the fuck were you doing?”

“We were just talking,” Harry said. _And hugging,_ he thought.

“About his son,” Harry added when Neville looked like he was thinking about swatting him again. “Because of his hemophilia. I have a plan to help him fly safely.”

Neville raised both his eyebrows at that and tapped his own shoulder with the newspaper.

“And what’s this plan of yours?”

That was a mighty good question that Harry wished he had an answer for.

“It, uh…it’s a good plan,” he said. “Very detailed. Complicated. I don’t really have time to answer right now. I’ve got quidditch practice, you see. Can’t keep the Gryffindors waiting.”

Harry grabbed random plates and began shoveling food onto his own. If his mouth was full he wouldn’t have to talk. Unfortunately, Neville anticipated his strategy, and grabbed Harry’s fork hand before he could take his first bite.

“You don’t have the first clue, do you?” he said.

Harry yanked his hand away and speared some egg. He hoped he was expressing an air of silent dignity. Neville tossed the newspaper back on the table.

“Fine. Don’t tell me, or ask me for help. It’s not like we’ve been friends for over twenty years,” he said. He plopped down in the chair beside Harry. “But listen. Bit of advice. Don’t fuck around with Malfoy. I know he’s a bit different now, a dad and all that, but you need to be careful. He’s not the kind of man who would appreciate you wasting his time.”

“I know that,” Harry said, mouth full of sausage. He forced a big swallow. “I’m not going to waste his time.”

“Good,” Neville said. “So no more of these restaurant non-dates, eh?”

Harry said nothing. He had a lot of breakfast to get through.

The next few days were kind of weird. Harry was used to being talked about, so it didn’t really get to him when he’d walk into a room and it would suddenly go silent, full of guilty expressions. The unnerving part was that the talk also included Malfoy. Rumors were starting—bizarre rumors. One of them involved a lot of dark magic and a joint effort to resurrect Voldemort. Another claimed that Harry was being drugged by Malfoy, the potions expert, into a role of magical servitude. And yet another had the two of them as illicit lovers despite the fact that Malfoy had been in a stable marriage for thirteen years.

But more annoying than all the background chatter were the letters.  Harry, who had been accustomed to receiving one or two personal letters a week, was suddenly fielding dozens of them as every person in his life demanded to know what the hell was going on between him and “that Slytherin ferret.” Hermione, of course, was the most persistent. And what was worse was that all her letters were coated liberally with concern. “Do you know what you’re doing, Harry?” “I’m worried about you.” “Why don’t you stop by so we can talk about this?”

But he didn’t want to talk about it. He wanted to focus on quidditch and Rose and the plan for Scorpius that he still hadn’t figured out despite lots of head banging and solo flights around the grounds trying to clear his head. He had hit a dead end and it was making him crabby and jumpy and very guilty, especially whenever Scorpius stopped to talk to him. He tried to sit down and write to Malfoy numerous times, but he couldn’t figure out what to say or how to say it. So imagine his surprise when, after a particularly long and useless flight over the forbidden forest, a surly and sunburnt Harry threw open the door to his office to find Draco Malfoy lounging in a very nice looking, and totally foreign, recliner, with one of Harry’s books on defensive magical technique open in his lap.

“Draco,” Harry said, and dropped his lightningbolt in surprise.

Malfoy glanced up from his reading. “Calling me that isn’t going to help with the rumors, you know.”

“What?” Harry said, because he still wasn’t over the shock of seeing Draco pop up, seemingly out of nowhere.

Malfoy shut the book in his lap, revealing a copy of the daily prophet he was holding beneath. He tossed it to harry who caught it instinctively.

“Your fault, of course,” Malfoy said. “But what isn’t?”

Harry unfolded the paper. He was about to ask “What page?” But he didn’t have to. There, right on front, was the headline “Dark wizard enchantment” and beneath it was a picture of Harry and Malfoy—a different one than had been circulating for the last few days.

“Who took this?” Harry asked.

The picture was of Harry and Malfoy with their arms around each other, obviously taken after the hogshead. It wasn’t immediately apparent who they were. Both their faces were hidden from the camera’s view. Malfoy’s hair was the most readily apparent identifier in the picture, but it was enough. Not many men had hair that blonde, and even less would have had reason to have Hogwarts looming in the background.

“It’s a clever bit of reporting,” Malfoy said. “That picture was only able to come forward because the first existed. And the fact that they waited until the rumors reached their peak shows a premeditated plan to garner as much media attention as possible. We’re dealing with a worthwhile adversary here.”

Harry folded the paper over, hiding the picture from sight.

“Who would want to do this?” he asked.

Malfoy, who sat up with Harry’s entrance, leaned back in the recliner again. “If you’re asking who would want to discredit me, well, that list goes on forever. But the list of people who wouldn’t also mind messing with your reputation? That list is a lot shorter—also mostly unknown to me. That’s where you come in. Tell me, who’s not very happy with the savior of the wizarding world at the moment?”

Harry shook his head. “I wouldn’t know. Usually if people are upset with me they say something.”

Malfoy chuckled, but it was really more of an amused huff of air. “They just say something? My, what a simple life you lead.”

“Where did the chair come from?” Harry asked, because one, he was curious, and two, he needed a break from the topic at hand.

“Transfigured,” Malfoy said. “I hope you’re not complaining. Those hard backed chairs were a nightmare. I didn’t even know people still used them outside of interrogation chambers. But then again, you _are_ a Gryffindor. Isn’t unnecessary and useless suffering part of your M.O.?”

“I just dislike transfiguration,” Harry said. “So I procrastinate. I’m worse at it than potions. Nearly failed the practical in Auror training because of it.”

Malfoy did that amused huff of air thing again. Harry liked it, even though he was the object being laughed at. Then Malfoy lifted his wand at the other chair and adding padding. It wasn’t a recliner, but it would no longer give him an ass-bruising.

Harry shot Malfoy a questioning look. The blonde waved an invitation toward the chair and said, “Can’t have your chair looking better than mine.”

“Naturally,” Harry said. He took the seat.

Malfoy pulled the lever on his chair that shoved his legs up. The intention was clearly to maximize their difference in comfort levels. He steepled his fingers.

Harry smiled. “Asshole.”

“Tell that to the papers,” Malfoy said. “If you publicize your disdain maybe they’ll realize I haven’t drugged you with a love potion after all.”

Harry snorted. He almost didn’t realize he’d done so. Maybe he’d have to see a doctor about it. “Please, as if you’d need a potion to make someone fall for you.”

Malfoy dropped his hands. His jaw went slack. Harry realized his snorting issue was suddenly the least of his problems.

“Scorpius,” he said, mentally apologizing to the boy for using him as a technique of distraction. “He’s starting to grow impatient.”

It was a testament to Malfoy’s parenting skills that he adjusted to the switch so quickly.

“Because of your idiot promise to get him flying?”

Harry nodded. “We have to do something.”

“No. _You_ have to do something. You raised those hopes, and now you’ll have to break the disappointment to him. Gently, I might add, or I’ll hex you into a pudding.”

“I mean we’re going to get him flying,” Harry said. “But I need you to help me.”

Malfoy’s eyes flashed. Harry was pretty sure the man was about five seconds away from an explosion. He’d have to speak quickly. And strangely enough, it was his sudden desperation not to be a pudding that made his imagination bloom. He was so excited to finally have the gears turning in his head that he leapt up and summoned his lightningbolt. It made a satisfying thwack as it hit the palm of his hand.

“You know your son best,” Harry said. “So it makes sense that you should be the one to find the right combination of spells.”

Malfoy sighed with the air of a man forcing his patience to stretch a bit thinner. “And you play into this, how…?”

Harry leaned his broom against his shoulder and smiled as wide and bright as his face allowed. “Simple. I’m the guinea pig.”

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so...drama is fun. Also there is totally such a thing as wizarding photoshop but none of it is needed to make Harry look gay. Hope everyone is enjoying. We get to see lots of both Draco and Scorpius next chapter because I'm a brat who has favorites. to those of you who regularly read my updates: you're what keeps me writing.


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